


Lightning Before the Thunder

by hazel_3017



Series: Lightning Before the Thunder [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 13:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 70,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13236855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel_3017/pseuds/hazel_3017
Summary: In which Sidney Crosby does the unthinkable and goes to Russia.Or, in 2003, Sid and Geno meet at a tournament in Břeclav, Czech Republic. A month later, a labour dispute causes a lockout in the QMJHL.Sidney is not about to sit around and wait while the money sorts itself out. He’s got hockey to play, even if it won’t be in Rimouski.(Evgeni is just along for the ride.)





	Lightning Before the Thunder

**Author's Note:**

> Take two, I guess. Happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> Betaed by kleinergruenerkaktus and hotcrosbuns. Any mistakes are my own.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.

By the time they get to meet in person, Evgeni has known Sidney for two years already. Evgeni is seventeen and playing for gold; his swagger is more than a little undue, probably, as he tries to chat up a couple of pretty girls outside of a hockey arena in the Czech Republic.

He’s doing fairly well, he decides, even if Sanja is shaking his head sadly and the girls are laughing more _at_ Evgeni than with him. There’s still interest, though. One of the girls—a tall blonde with a tiny waist and a cleavage Evgeni is having trouble keeping his eyes off—is pressing up against him carefully, one hand trailing down his arm deliberately.

Evgeni knows how this goes. He’s been singing along to this tune since he was fifteen. He’s thinking a little fun before the gold medal game tomorrow is just what he needs. A well-deserved reward for having played so well.

Well enough that Metallurg wants him to play for the A-team next season, he thinks giddily. He’ll be playing in the Russian Superleague, against Sanja and his Dynamo Moscow. Will be playing for a championship. At least that’s the plan; break the roster and win the League.

Evgeni grins when the girl lowers her voice and asks if he has a dorm room—wouldn’t it be better if they could go somewhere just the two of them, she’s saying, or maybe he wants to come back to her hotel, for some... _alone time._

Russian fans, Evgeni knows from experience, travel well. It won’t be the first time he goes to bed with a fan.

He’s about to reply, to say, _Let’s go to your hotel,_ because Evgeni knows better than to bring back someone to the dorms where there is no privacy and the boys will chirp him relentlessly and holler, “Put your back into it, Zhenya. Show her a good time.”

(Evgeni is not going through that again. Not after last time.)

And besides, he is fairly certain that Coach would kill him if he even _thought_ about bringing a girl back to the dorms, or worse; healthy scratch him as punishment.

The girl looks at him expectantly, but before Evgeni can get the words off his tongue, he is interrupted by a group of boys walking past behind them. They’re boisterous and loud and _American_. Evgeni scowls automatically.

Team USA is the last team standing between Russia and gold. It’s a matter of national pride.

Evgeni turns to glare at them resentfully, but stops up short when he catches sight of their tracksuits. They’re red, and carrying a maple leaf logo in the middle of the chest.

Not American then. _Canadian_.

Evgeni straightens. He forgets about the girl entirely. He recognises one of the boys, he realises now that he’s looking more closely.

While Canada has been playing in Břeclav for the duration of the tournament, Evgeni and his team have been stuck in Group B, in Piestany, Slovakia. This is the first time he gets to see the Canadians, and he hadn’t even known Sidney would be there, but that is definitely him.

Evgeni has only ever seen him in pictures and on tape, but he would recognise that face anywhere—the slant of his green eyes, the full lips. The cheeks still round with baby fat and the nose that is just a little too big for his face.

His features are at once unfamiliar and unmistakeable; Evgeni must have seen his face a thousand times, but only ever through the view of a lens. He has never seen the shadows and the natural light of the world around them dance across Sidney’s face before, the way it shades in the contours of him in glorious 3D and teases at the sharp angles still hidden by youth and adolescence.

He is breathtaking.

Evgeni hears Sidney say something to one of the other boys. He can’t help but smile at the sound of his voice. Evgeni has heard it before—through the distorted warp of a telephone, or the tinny blast of his computer speakers when he manages to get his hand on a rare video interview.

Evgeni loves talking with Sidney on the phone, loves watching the grainy image of his nose wrinkling when a reporter asks him a stupid questions he’s too polite not to answer.

Hearing Sidney’s voice live, though, _seeing_ him here and now is so, so much better.

“Sidka,” Evgeni blurts, unable to contain himself. It slips out too loud and too sudden, but he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed when the Canadians startle at his outburst and go quiet, Sidney among them.

A few seconds tick by. The Canadians stare at them, baffled.

Sanja asks quietly, “Zhenya?” just as Sidney’s eyes go wide in recognition and he says, “ _Geno_? Geno!”

Sidney pushes away from his teammates, and suddenly Evgeni has an armful of Sidney Crosby chattering English at him almost too fast for Evgeni’s vocabulary to keep up with.

He recognises that ridiculous name Sidney made up for him so long ago— _Geno_ —to spare them both the butchering of Evgeni’s given name, and then something about how excited Sidney is to see him in person. Finally.

Evgeni is far better at English now than he was back in 2001, when his American agent had told him, “There’s this other kid we represent. Canadian. He’s a generational talent, like you. He’s only fourteen.”

Evgeni had hemmed and hawed appropriately. He had even asked for the kid’s name, but it wasn’t until he saw a shaky, grainy video of Sidney that Evgeni truly appreciated what his agent had been saying. He must have watched that clip a thousand times, all three minutes of it, staring in awe as the Sidney on the tape weaved his way through the neutral zone and into the offensive end—as if there weren’t five guys trying to strip the puck off his stick, as if it was nothing at all to snap a shot off his backhand, firing it past the goalie’s blocker side and into the back of the net.

Evgeni had watched and he’d wanted. They would both be NHL draft eligible in a few years. They might even end up playing together.

At fifteen, it hadn’t seemed so much a hopeless dream as _not impossible_. It could happen. Maybe.

It was the first time in Evgeni’s life that he’d felt such an immediate and visceral kinship and longing for something that wasn’t hockey. He couldn’t help but think of the future and what it could look like playing alongside someone like Sidney Crosby. A few weeks later, he called up Barry and said, “Does he have a phone? Can I have his number?”

It was impulsive in the way that all of Evgeni’s best ideas are, and at first, Barry had laughed at him, thinking him to be joking. Evgeni was insistent, though, and Barry finally caved, listing up a number in his rough but passable Russian.

Someone must have warned Sidney that Evgeni was planning on calling him, because when Sidney answered the phone that first time and Evgeni said, “Hello, Sidney Crosby, my name Evgeni Malkin. You play good hockey. Almost as good as me,” he didn’t immediately hang up, for which Evgeni is eternally grateful.

Evgeni had practiced those words in English carefully for weeks, shaping his mouth around them until he felt confident enough to speak them aloud.

He wanted so badly for Sidney to like him. For them to be friends. In his preparation, he’d forgotten to plan ahead.

Sidney said, “Uhm,” hesitantly, and Evgeni had been at an equal loss for what to say next. He’d already used up all the English he knew.

After a few long seconds, though, Sidney had started laughing at the awkward silence that had settled between them, and the sound of it was so ridiculous and so carefree that Evgeni had been startled into his own laugh.

He remembers the feeling of warmth that had welled up inside of him. He remembers grinning like a lunatic, and the absent relief that there had been no one there to see him acting like a complete and utter dork. He remembers thinking, _We’re going to be such good friends_.

That first phone call lasted maybe all of five minutes. At the end of it, they’d managed to exchange email addresses. Evgeni had recognised the word _hotmail_ if nothing else. It became their primary way of communicating, trudging through careful translations and an approximation of a language that was a mix of English and Russian and hockey jargon and so uniquely, unequivocally _theirs_.

They still talk on the phone, but not as often as Evgeni would like—“International calls are expensive, Geno,” Sidney always says, even as he’s usually the last one to hang up _._ They’ve never met in person.

Until now. 

“Sidka,” Evgeni says again, breathless. He squeezes Sidney hard, holding on through Sidney’s teammates murmuring in confusion, through the girls huffing with insult as they strut away, loudly badmouthing Evgeni in Russian.

“What the hell, Zhenya?” Sanja says, annoyed.

Evgeni ignores all of them. He ignores everything but the feel of Sidney’s hair tickling his jaw and his arms around Evgeni’s back, hands clutching tight to his hoodie.

“I’m so happy,” Sidney is saying. “You’re finally here! I was so worried you wouldn’t make it through the round robin and I wouldn’t get to see you. I tried emailing you to tell you I’d be here; a guy got injured and I got called up at the last second. I flew out on the first day of the tournament—”

Sidney keeps talking, and Evgeni’s English is better than it’s ever been, but it still takes him a while to parse out that Sidney was a late addition to the Canadian roster, that he’d tried sending an email and had even tried leaving a message on Evgeni’s phone to let him know they’d be at the same tournament.

Evgeni sighs and clutches Sidney tighter. “Coach say no phone for tournament. No distract. Not know you be here. Can’t believe!”

“Zhenya, what the hell?” Sanja says again. “Who is this person? Who is Sidka? Why are you fraternising with an American?”

Sidney pulls out of their embrace to glare at Sanja. “Not American. Canadian,” he hisses at him, insulted, in truly terrible but at least comprehensible Russian.

Evgeni grins proudly.

Sanja’s brows shoot up, and behind him, Sidney’s teammates are watching them hesitantly.

“Sid?” one of them prompts. He’s even taller than Evgeni’s six foot, three inches.

Sidney glances at the boy, offering a small smile. “It’s fine, Duby. You guys go ahead, and I’ll find you later, okay? I’m just gonna catch up with my friend.”

“You sure?” the boy says even as the other guys start moving again, saying, “See you later, Croz,” and other various versions of it as they walk away.

“I’m sure, Duby. Thanks.”

The boy looks unconvinced, but he gives Sidney a nod. “I’ll have my phone on if you need me,” he says, eyeing Evgeni and Sanja dubiously.

Evgeni is a little insulted, to be honest. He’s perfectly wholesome.

Once the boy leaves, Sidney turns back to Evgeni. “Sorry,” he says in Russian, before switching back to English. “I’m the youngest one here, and I don’t really know any of the other guys; Duby has kind of taking me under his wing. My teammates call me his duckling.” Sidney pouts, looking disgruntled at this.

Evgeni laughs, his fleeting annoyance disappearing as quick as it came. He pulls Sidney into another hug, hardly able to believe that he is actually here, that after two years of waiting, of countless emails and phone calls back and forth, they are finally meeting in person. It’s better than he ever could have imagined.

“So glad you here, Sidka. Best surprise,” he whispers into Sidney’s hair. He breathes him in, closing his eyes and committing the scent to memory. He doesn’t ever want to forget. Not when he has no idea when he’ll be able to see Sidney again after this.

“No, seriously,” Sanja interrupts. “Someone tell me what is happening right now. You just chased away a sure thing, Zhenya. That girl was looking for a good time. With _you_ ,” he says deliberately.

Sidney snorts, and his Russian isn’t good enough to have caught most of that, but he would have recognised the words _girl_ and _you_ and probably guessed the rest.

Evgeni holds back a wince.

“Sorry,” Sidney says again in Russian. He looks from Evgeni to Sanja. “Not mean...how say?” He glances back at Evgeni for help. His eyes are more brown than green in the dim light of the evening sun.

Evgeni stares, mesmerised.

He hasn’t been prepared for how _young_ Sidney would look in real life. Or how adorable. Evgeni desperately has to hold himself back from pinching his surprisingly chubby cheeks.

“Interrupt?” Evgeni hazards a guess, but Sidney only looks at him in confusion, and Evgeni doesn’t remember the equivalent in English.

They shrug at each other helplessly, and then break into matching grins.

“Oh my god,” Sanja murmurs, suddenly delighted. He’s staring at them as if they’re one of his precious soaps.

Evgeni finds himself taking a wary step back, bringing Sidney with him. “Go away now, please,” he tells Sanja. “I’m busy.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Sanja says, eyeing Evgeni with a wide grin, all shark-like. He turns his gaze on Sidney. “Sidka, was it?” he asks, but Evgeni can see there is a glint of recognition in his eyes now.

Sanja pays more attention to the international circuit than Evgeni does. There is no way he doesn’t know who Sidney is; two years removed from NHL draft eligibility, and already famous.

Sidney scowls and presses closer to Evgeni. “Go away,” he repeats, carefully shaping out the words Evgeni had used earlier. Evgeni guesses Sidney only half-knows what it means, and honestly, if he wasn’t Evgeni’s favourite person in the world already, he would be now, just for the look on Sanja’s face alone.

It’s been a while since he’s seen his friend look so bemused. Evgeni can’t help but feel a little smug. He’s usually the butt of Sanja’s jokes. It’s a nice turnaround.

“Come on,” he tells Sidney. He grabs his hand and starts dragging him away from Sanja and across the street from the arena, towards where he knows there is a McDonald’s nearby.

There is always a McDonald’s nearby.

“Where?”

“Food,” Evgeni answers back in English. He looks at Sidney over his shoulder, giving him an exaggerated wink. “We eat. I pay,” he says, and then grins, pleased, when Sidney bursts into helpless giggles, muttering about how Evgeni is such a massive dork.

They hold hands all the way to the restaurant.

“So,” Sidney says after. He’s standing under a streetlight, shuffling his feet and glancing up at Evgeni from beneath his long lashes. The artificial light is casting his face into shadows. It makes his face look less round. “See you when I see you?”

Evgeni nods his agreement. He tugs at Sidney’s hand, pulling him into another embrace. He hates that they will have to go their separate ways. He wishes for a second that they were staying in the same hotel, but even then they wouldn’t be able to spend much time together. Evgeni knows now that if everything goes the way they hope it will, he’ll see Sidney again at the World Junior Championship in Helsinki, but that is six months from now and half a year has never seemed like such an age before.

“See you when I see you,” Evgeni repeats, in Russian, and holds on to Sidney for a few minutes longer.

They don’t get to see each other again before they leave Břeclav.

**

The Americans beat Russia 3-2, and Evgeni leaves the Czech Republic with a silver medal. It’s not the gold he wanted, and while that stings—losing always does—he’s not as torn up about it as he usually would be.

He can’t find it in himself to be too upset when he’s gotten the chance to see Sidney in person for the first time ever.

It was only for a short while. They both had curfews and a medal game to play the next day—Evgeni for gold and Sidney for Bronze—but Evgeni will forever cherish those few precious hours they had spent demolishing cheeseburgers inside a McDonald’s in Břeclav.

Evgeni goes home, back to Russia, and obediently allows Mama to fuss over him, grinning at Denis smugly when he complains about their mother playing favourites.

The new season is just around the corner, and Evgeni throws himself into his conditioning. He drags himself into bed every night and devours all of his meals as if he hasn’t seen food in weeks. He goes into training camp with the knowledge that he’s ready; this year, he’ll get a taste of the big league. He’ll be moving up from Metallurg’s farm team.

What little free time he has left he spends hanging out with friends and emailing back and forth with Sidney like usual. He even calls to chat a couple of times, but still isn’t prepared for it when Barry contacts him ten days before the season starts.

“The Q is in a lockout. Labour dispute. Sidney doesn’t want to wait for them to work things out. He wants to play now, in Russia, but only if it’s with you.”

“What?” Evgeni says, stunned.

“We’ve already talked to Metallurg; they were _very_ pleased by Sidney’s interest. Would you be willing to billet him?” Barry continues.

“ _What_?” Evgeni says again. His mind is stuck on the idea of Sidney coming to Russia, of Sidney wanting to play with _Evgeni_.

It feels important.

“Evgeni,” Barry says. “Are you listening?” 

“Yes! Yes, of course.” He feels giddy, a furl of excitement coiling low in his belly. “Of course he’ll stay with me. Where else would he go?” Evgeni asks, insulted by the very thought that Sidney would come all the way to Russia, to Evgeni, only to stay somewhere else.

“Of course,” Barry mimics, voice dry. His agent still isn’t quite sure how Sidney and Evgeni had come to be such good friends. He keeps telling Evgeni, “To think I only gave you his phone number,” and then mumbling under his breath about teenagers and how he’ll never understand them.

“When is he coming? Why haven’t I heard anything about this before now? I talked to Sidka yesterday,” Evgeni says. “He didn’t mention any of this then.” He is a little put out that Sidney didn’t deliver the news himself. It seems like the kind of thing they should have talked about, the kind of thing Sidney would have told him personally.

“No, he wouldn’t have. He’s been under strict orders from Brisson not to say anything. We’ve only known about the labour issues for a couple of weeks, and just got done negotiating a deal with Metallurg this morning. We were hoping the dispute would resolve itself, but it looks like that’s not happening anytime soon. The league will be announcing the lockout tomorrow.” Barry sighs. His voice sounds tinny over the phone.

“Convincing Sidney’s parents to let him go to Russia was...a process. But it’s what Sidney wants, and they agree he should be playing in the best possible league. He’s not eligible to play in the AHL yet, so that’s out. We think the OHL and WHL won’t offer a big enough challenge for him; you’ve seen him play. Sixteen is young for the Superleague, but not unprecedented. Ovechkin started at sixteen—”

Evgeni scowls at that. It’s a sore point for him.

“—and Sidney is better.”

Evgeni can’t help but agree with that assessment. At eighteen, Sanja has the clear size advantage, and the better shot, no doubt, but Sidney is the better player overall. Even if he’s only sixteen. Evgeni can admit to that. Sidney is going to be a monster.

Already is, a little bit.

“When is he coming?” Evgeni asks. “I’ll pick him up at the airport.” There is so much to do suddenly. He has to talk to his mother, has to shop for an extra bed and manoeuvre it into the remaining space of his bedroom.

It’s been years since Evgeni and his family had to contend with a one-bedroom apartment, but their house now is nothing too grand, not yet. Three bedrooms and two bathrooms, an open kitchen and a living room with a home office. There is no guest room.

“Two days,” Barry says. “We’re just waiting for his visa. I’ll email you the details.”

Evgeni grins. He can’t wait.

**

When Sidney arrives in Magnitogorsk, all he has with him is a backpack slung over one shoulder and the clothes he’s wearing. His luggage, including the bag with all his hockey gear, has gone missing somewhere between Halifax and Moscow.

“We’re not sure where yet,” the woman behind the counter informs them when Evgeni tries to get some answers from customer service. “Do you have an address and contact info? We’ll let you know when it’s here.”

Evgeni is more than a little annoyed. He’s gearing himself up for a fight when Sidney touches the inside of his wrist. “Is okay, Geno. I wait.”

He looks dead on his feet, which is the only reason Evgeni isn’t going to make a scene about this. That and the disapproving frown his mother sends his way.

“Come,” she tells Sidney in slow, careful Russian. She pushes Evgeni away firmly so she can link Sidney’s arm with hers, before gently guiding him out of the airport and towards where they parked the car. “You need sleep and food. Let Zhenya handle the luggage.”

Sidney smiles at her gratefully, even though Evgeni doesn’t think he really understood all of that and is responding more to her tone of voice than her actual words.

“Thank you,” Sidney says, and his accent is still well and truly horrible, but Mama looks more than a little charmed.

Evgeni doesn’t blame her. He is too.

Getting some food into Sidney before he crashes is a bit of a challenge. Mama ushers them both into the kitchen once they arrive at the house, and Sidney is listing bonelessly against Evgeni the second they sit down.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against Evgeni’s shoulder. “Tired.” Sidney’s breath is tickling Evgeni’s neck every time he exhales.

Evgeni hums. He throws an arm around Sidney’s shoulder, tugging him even closer. He turns his head, nosing at Sidney’s hair and smiling happily at the familiar scent. The same as it had been just a few short weeks ago.

Evgeni can hardly believe that this is real. That he gets to have Sidney here like this. He’s not sure he would have lasted the six months until December.

Mama makes them sandwiches, and Sidney is so tired he eats with his eyes closed. Evgeni worries he won’t like the spread; he knows Sidney isn’t used to this type of cheese or this kind of dressing, but it can’t be too bad because Sidney is moaning around his mouthful of food and Mama looks on smugly.

Once they’ve finished eating, Mama clears their plates and Evgeni nudges Sidney to his feet. He thanks Mama for the food, and Sidney rushes to add his own thanks, but she just smiles at them and shoos them out of the kitchen, telling Evgeni to get Sidney to bed. It’s late.

Evgeni takes Sidney’s hand in his. “Come on,” he says. They make a brief stop out in the hall to pick up Sidney’s backpack where they’d left it earlier, and then Evgeni is herding Sidney towards his bedroom.

Theirs now.

“Sorry,” Sidney says again as they are walking up the stairs to the second floor. He must be so tired he’s beyond what little Russian he knows. He says in English, “I wanted to tell you, you know, before. When we talked on the phone.” He glances at Evgeni, smiling shyly. “I wanted to make sure it was okay with you, to come here and play for Metallurg. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. Brisson said I couldn’t, and I didn’t think it’d be a good idea, just in case something happened before we could work out a deal with the team.”

“Of course is okay!” Evgeni exclaims. “You here, Sidka. Is best!”

Sidney smiles at him, pleased, and ducks his head. “Best,” he echoes dreamily. “We’re gonna do great.”

Evgeni beams back. He reaches over to ruffle Sidney’s hair, grinning when Sidney scowls at him in annoyance and tries to bat Evgeni’s hands away. Sidney isn’t particularly small, but it feels as if he is when Evgeni is standing next to him, almost a head taller. Evgeni just wants to squeeze him tight.

“Is okay to sleep in my bed tonight?” Evgeni asks him when they reach his room. “I want buy you bed, but Mama say wait for you. Let you try so we know is good bed for you before we buy.”

Sidney flushes. “Oh, of course. Anything would have been fine, really. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you would have to buy a bed; I’ll pay for it myself when we—”

Evgeni snorts and pats Sidney on the shoulder kindly. “ _I_ buy,” he stresses, and tries for a severe enough look to keep Sidney from protesting.

Sidney looks mulish, but he keeps his mouth shut. Evgeni takes it as a win.

“So, okay to share tonight?” Evgeni asks again, and Sidney nods hastily.

“Of course,” he repeats. He’s looking around Evgeni’s room curiously, eyeing the different knick-knacks and the posters on the wall. Evgeni feels jittery, worried Sidney might not like it. The room is going to be his too for the next eight months or so and Evgeni desperately wants him to feel at home here.

Sidney doesn’t seem put out at all, though. He is smiling at one of the posters, the one of Pavel Datsyuk in a Detroit jersey.

“You like?” Evgeni asks curiously, because mostly when they talk about their favourite players and their favourite teams, Sidney is waxing poetics about the Montreal Canadiens—because of his father, Evgeni knows—or his love affair with Steve Yzerman—partly because Sidney had once seen him play live and had likened it akin to a religious experience, but also because, “He’s just so _good_ , Geno! I want to be just like him.”

Sidney can be very intense sometimes. Evgeni learned this early on into their acquaintance.

“Of course!” Sidney says enthusiastically. “Datsyuk is amazing. He plays with Yzerman.”

Evgeni rolls his eyes, but thinks better of chirping Sidney about his massive crush right now. It’s more important to get Sidney to bed for some sleep; he’s swaying gently on his feet.

“Have shirt to sleep in? Need borrow?”

Sidney blinks at him. He looks helplessly at his backpack before glancing back at Evgeni. He shakes his head. “It was all in my luggage. I don’t even have my toiletries. No toothbrush,” he says mournfully.

Evgeni laughs. “Can borrow mine,” he offers, but Sidney is already wrinkling his nose and shaking his head _no_.

“I’ll just use my finger. It’s fine. I—” He looks down at the shirt he’s wearing, tugging at the hem and staring at it dubiously. “I wouldn’t mind borrowing a shirt, though.”

“Is no problem. Want shower first before bed?”

Sidney bites his lip, looking at the bed longingly. A glance back at his shirt has him nodding, though. “Yes, please. I smell like sweat and travel.”

Evgeni laughs but doesn’t disagree. “Okay. I show you shower and find towel and shirt for you.”

“Thank you.” Sidney smiles at him, tired and soft, and when Evgeni smiles back and moves to walk past him, Sidney stops him for a hug. He’s small enough that he has to stand on his toes to wrap his arms around Evgeni’s shoulders.

Evgeni hugs him back, his hands settling on Sidney’s waist. He holds him tight and buries his nose in Sidney’s hair. They’ve known each other for two years, but this is just the second time they get to see each other in person; Evgeni has only gotten to hug Sidney a few times, but it’s quickly becoming one of his favourite things.

Sidney is a good hugger.

“I’m really happy to see you again,” Sidney whispers into Evgeni’s shoulder. “When Pat told me about the Q, all I could think about was that I _had_ to play. Then I thought, well, if I couldn’t play for Rimouski, maybe, maybe I could play with you, in Russia.”

Sidney looks up at Evgeni. His eyes look impossibly big so close. Evgeni can see small specks of gold in between the green; he’s never noticed that before.

“Am happy, Sidka. Happy you come.”

“Me too. I’m so glad Pat made it work. I was worried he couldn’t, or that my parents would say no, or that Metallurg would say no. It’s partly why I didn’t tell you before. I didn’t want to jinx anything.”

Evgeni smiles at that. “Superstitious,” he teases, and that’s a word he only knows because of Sidney, because he’s listened to Sidney explain his lengthy and baffling list of _routines_ several times before.

Evgeni has his own set of routines, but Sidney’s are excessive. Some of them aren’t even hockey related—Sidney won’t talk to him at all if it’s a Friday the thirteenth. He won’t email and he won’t accept Evgeni’s calls. “It’s bad luck, Geno,” he’ll insist, before inevitably go on a tangent about black cats and how unlucky they are and how this is a problem because, “They are just so _cute_ , Geno.”

Next to hockey, _superstitious_ is one of the few words Evgeni thinks of as synonymous with Sidney.

( _Stubborn_ is another.)

“‘m not that superstitious,” Sidney grumbles. He sighs, resting his head against Evgeni’s shoulder. “I should probably take that shower before I fall asleep standing up.”

Evgeni hums and tightens his grip on Sidney. He figures it’s okay by the way Sidney makes absolutely no move to pull away.

After a moment, Sidney’s breath starts evening out, and Evgeni regretfully lets Sidney go. “Come,” he says, ushering Sidney out of the room. “Bathroom just across hall. Mama and Papa have own bathroom downstairs next to bedroom, but we share with Denis.” He pulls an exaggerated face and holds back a grin when Sidney laughs at him and tells him to be nice.

Evgeni loves Denis, but he’s not doing his duty as a little brother if he can’t be a pain in his older brother’s ass.

“Where is your brother anyway?” Sidney asks. He’s stripping out of his clothes, looking at Evgeni over his shoulder curiously. “And your dad. I thought they’d be here.”

Evgeni carefully looks away as Sidney slips his boxers down his thighs. He pulls a towel out of the drawer under the sink. “Camping trip,” he explains. “They do every year. Come back tomorrow.”

He hands Sidney the towel, keeping his gaze firmly at eye level.

Sidney looks perfectly comfortable in the nude, but it feels wrong to sneak a peak when Evgeni is fully clothed—even if he is curious as hell to see if Sidney’s ass really is as big as it looks.

Those kind of discoveries are for the locker room.

“You don’t go with them?” Sidney asks.

Evgeni shrugs. “Have training camp.” Which is precisely why Papa schedules the trip this time of year, every year, because while Evgeni gets to play hockey, Denis doesn’t.

His brother gave up playing a few years ago—“Let’s face it, Zhenya. I’ll never be good enough, not like you.”

Evgeni thinks Denis has mostly come to peace with it, but it still hurts, he thinks.

The camping trip is for Denis. Evgeni wishes he could go with them sometimes, but he understands why Denis wants to get away for a couple of days this time of year.

“Hm,” Sidney says, and he’s looking at Evgeni knowingly, but he lets it drop and steps into the shower.

Evgeni sighs fondly. He’s pushy, his Sidka.

He heads back to the bedroom to search for a shirt Sidney can wear to bed. Sidney is smaller than Evgeni, but an inch or so wider in the shoulders. Nothing Evgeni has is in his wardrobe is going to fit him right, but it’ll work fine for bed.

He roots through his closet before eventually deciding on an old junior Metallurg tee. It’s a couple of years old, but at least it won’t fall below Sidney’s thighs, Evgeni thinks. He’ll look cute.

“Really?” Sidney deadpans when Evgeni tells him so fifteen minutes later and Sidney has returned to the bedroom. He tugs at the shirt, lips pursed into a small pout.

Evgeni laughs. He doesn’t think Sidney even realises he’s doing it. “ _Super_ cute,” Evgeni emphasises, just to be an ass, and also because it’s one of the first words he learnt in English—Sidney used to say it all the time when they spoke on the phone. He’d blame Taylor, claiming she had picked up the word in school and for a while there, everything was just super.

Sidney punches him in the arm, which of course means Evgeni has to punch him back, and somehow it descends into a wrestling match where Evgeni is laughing on the bed with Sidney sitting on top of him, demanding, “Say Uncle!”

Evgeni has no idea what anyone’s uncle has got to do with anything, but Sidney has found that one spot just below Evgeni’s ribs that has him shrieking with laughter and it’s getting hard to breathe. “Uncle! Uncle!”

“Victory!” Sidney crows out, and then tries helplessly to smother his giggles when Evgeni shushes him for being too loud.

Mama has already gone to bed and won’t appreciate being woken up by them messing around and being loud.

“Sorry,” Sidney says. He falls back against the mattress, burrowing his head into Evgeni’s pillow to hide a yawn. The shower had given him a bit of a second wind, but he’s flagging fast now.

Evgeni grins. He only has the one pillow. “Sleep now, Sidka. Been up too long already.”

Sidney says, “Uh huh,” and doesn’t notice when Evgeni gets out of bed to change into his nightwear and brush his teeth. Sidney’s asleep when he returns.

Evgeni smiles at him gently. Sidney’s mouth is slack in sleep, and there is a few tendrils of hair curling over his brows. Evgeni climbs into bed, shifting around before settling down next to Sidney.

“Sleep tight, Sidka,” he whispers, and is answered by Sidney’s soft snores.

He lets Sidney keep the pillow.

**

The top brass in Metallurg graciously allows them a single day to let Sidney get settled and acclimated to Russia before they are expected to report for training camp.

The season starts in only seven days, and Coach isn’t particularly happy about missing two of his players, but Velichkin calls Evgeni up and says, “Keep the boy happy, Zhenya. We want him to stay in Russia, yes? This is good PR for the whole league, not just the team.”

Sidney is one of Evgeni’s best friends—something more even, it feels like at times. Something other. Two years is a long time, even if they never saw each other in person, and Evgeni can’t even remember what it was like before, when there was no calls to look forward to or emails to cherish—when there was no Sidney in his life.

It’s not as if Evgeni needs the extra incentive to keep Sidney happy, but he takes his GM’s words to heart all the same.

Evgeni is walking a fine line; he knows it is his coach, not his GM, who decided he was good enough to play for the A-team this year. He doesn’t want to give Velichkin any reasons to demote him.

At seventeen, Evgeni does not possess the same star power Sidney does at only sixteen. He is no Crosby and no Ovechkin.

No one has been calling Evgeni “the Next One”.

He is a Malkin, though, and someday, that is going to mean something. Someday soon, Evgeni promises himself. Soon people will hear his name and they will think of greatness. He’ll make sure of it.

In the meantime, Evgeni has got a bed to buy.

“This one?” Sidney suggests, pointing at what might possibly be the saddest, most pathetic excuse for a bed Evgeni has seen in his entire life.

It physically pains him to keep from rolling his eyes. Even Sidney is staring at it sceptically.

“No,” Evgeni says firmly. “I’m not buying you this...whatever the hell it is. I’m pretty sure it’s not even a bed.”

“Is bed!” Sidney protests. He looks between Evgeni and the sales lady standing next to him; she’s a teenager not much older than them. She looks incredibly bored by the proceedings. “It has a mattress,” Sidney says, switching to English. “If it has a mattress it’s a bed,” he continues on, which seems to be his trump card and Evgeni is going to accept never.

“The floor would be a better mattress than this crap,” Evgeni replies in Russian, and the girl actually nods her head in agreement.

“It really is crap,” she says. “It’ll be hell on your back.”

Evgeni is not sure Sidney caught all of that, but he pulls a face at the word _crap_ so he probably got the gist of it.

On Evgeni’s other side, Mama is shaking her head and muttering under her breath about stubborn, idiot boys. “You need a proper bed, Sidka,” she tells Sidney gently, making sure to enunciate clearly. “You’ll hurt your back if not, and then how will you play hockey?”

Sidney bites his lip, turning to Evgeni for a translation.

“Need good bed. For hockey,” Evgeni says smugly, which is _his_ trump card and Sidney can’t actually disagree with. No matter how guilty he feels about Evgeni spending money on him.

Sidney pulls a face, but Evgeni can see he’s just about ready to capitulate.

“Sidka,” Evgeni wheedles, and Sidney bites his lip again but this time to keep from smiling. Evgeni carefully keeps from punching the air in triumph the way he wants to.

“Okay. Get good bed,” Sidney agrees. 

It takes the sales lady less than five minutes to single out a bed that is small enough to fit next to Evgeni’s inside the space of his bedroom and big enough to fit Sidney—with a mattress that is just firm enough so he won’t sink into the bed.

“It’s a tricky balance,” Sidney informs Evgeni solemnly in English.

Evgeni, who’s never cared much about how soft or firm his bed is as long as it’s got the proper leg length—if Evgeni can go the rest of his life without a bed where his feet are dangling over the edge he’ll be a happy man—accepts this at face value.

“Thank you,” Sidney says when they reach the register and Evgeni arranges for the store to ship the bed to the house.

“No problem.”

“Geno.” Sidney frowns at him disapprovingly. “I’m being serious here. A bed is expensive. You didn’t have to pay for it, you know, I—”

Evgeni reaches out and smoothes out Sidney’s frown with his index finger. “Is no problem, Sidka. You say ‘thank you’, I’m say ‘welcome’. Is all. Okay?”

Sidney purses his lips, but he nods.

“Good,” Evgeni says with a grin and pats Sidney’s hair. “Good Sidka.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Sidney says. He bats at Evgeni’s hand uselessly.

Somewhere behind them, Mama is studiously inspecting a twin bed and pretending not to know either of them.

**

They make a quick pitstop at a nearby shopping centre to get Sidney a toothbrush and some clothes, including underwear, to last him until his luggage arrives.

He’ll be equipped with new hockey gear at the rink.

“I’m paying myself,” Sidney says stubbornly, and Evgeni lets him easily enough. 

He maxed out his debit card on the bed anyway. He’s pretty much broke until he gets his next paycheck. Not that Sidney needs to know that.

When they get home, the bed is already waiting for them in the hallway, and Denis and Papa are eating Mama’s leftovers in the kitchen.

“We got in at the same time as the delivery guys,” Denis tells them, while Papa adds, “I signed for the bed. They said you had to assemble it yourself.”

“Where are your manners, Volodya? At least introduce yourself to our guest before you go talking about anything else.”

Papa only grins at Mama’s scolding, and winks at Evgeni and Sidney. Evgeni grins back.

“Hello,” Sidney says shyly. He waves at Denis and Papa like an utter dork. Denis smirks, but Papa is waving back merrily. 

“Sidka!” he exclaims, because in the two years Evgeni has known him, he has only ever referred to Sidney as Sidka when talking about him to his family and they picked it up early. Papa gets up from his chair, walking around the table so he can get to Sidney. They’re almost the same height, with Sidney just a couple of inches taller, and Papa has no trouble cupping Sidney’s face in his hands so he can kiss both of his cheeks in welcome. “Look at you!” Papa says. “Welcome to Russia.”

Sidney blinks, startled. “Thank you?” he says.

“Did you have a good trip? It’s a long way from Canada to Russia. Have you talked to your parents yet? Let them know you arrived safely?”

“He talked to them this morning,” Evgeni says when Sidney looks at him for answers. His Russian is fairly limited, and it’s worse when people are talking at normal speed. Evgeni usually slows it down for him, and Mama has been very good at speaking slow and clearly for Sidney, but Papa is a talker. Even Evgeni has trouble keeping up sometimes.

“They lost Sidka’s luggage,” Mama tells them, tutting disapprovingly. She smiles at Sidney, sympathetic. “It ended up in New York during his layover.”

“It’ll be here in a couple of days,” Evgeni says. He throws an arm around Sidney’s shoulder. “You can keep wear my shirt to bed,” he offers graciously in English. He grins, his tongue poking out teasingly. “Look super cute.”

“I have my own clothes!” Sidney protests, holding up the bag from the shopping centre.

“Still super cute, though,” Evgeni insists, just to see Sidney flush an embarrassed red.

“Asshole,” he says.  


Evgeni’s grin widens. 

**

Assembling Sidney’s bed is a lesson in patience and following directions. 

That is, they learn Evgeni has no patience whatsoever, and that Sidney should never be trusted with a set of instructions—even if it did come with an English section.

“I’m pretty bad with maps too,” Sidney admits sheepishly. In the end, Denis is the one who puts the bed together.

“Useless,” he says, grinning and ruffling Evgeni’s hair before leaving the room. He makes a point of giving Sidney a friendly nudge as he goes.

“You helped a little,” Sidney says loyally when Evgeni translates the word for him, and Evgeni grins, helplessly fond.

“Little bit,” he agrees.

Sidney smiles at him, happy and pleased. 

It’s not until they’re about to crawl into bed that they realise they’ve forgotten to buy a duvet and a pillow to go along with the bed.

“Well,” Sidney says.

They move the nightstand they’d put in the middle to keep the beds separate, and push the two frames together to make one big bed. With Evgeni’s small double and Sidney’s single, it almost looks like something resembling a normal double.

“At least it’s better than yesterday,” Evgeni says, because a small double is technically big enough for two people, but less so when those two people are hockey players with the asses to match.

Especially Sidney’s. Jesus.

Evgeni had slept fine, but it’d been a tight fit. 

Sidney eyes the makeshift double thoughtfully. “Share blanket?” he asks, smiling winningly at Evgeni.

“Duvet,” Evgeni corrects. He nods. “We’ll share.”

Somehow, Sidney ends up with the pillow again. Evgeni isn’t really surprised.

**

Training camp for Evgeni has been somewhat of a challenge this year. Actually, it’s been something of a nightmare.

Hockey players as a group are a proud people, and Russians doubly so.

A lot of Evgeni’s teammates have been less than impressed about some no-name seventeen-year-old breaking into their roster, ready to eat up their minutes.

There has been...discontent.

Evgeni has been working harder than everyone else, pushing himself to the brink of his limit, just to prove he deserves to be there.

Not everyone agrees, and Evgeni has overheard their griping about ‘the brat’ more times than he can count, but he is making it harder and harder for them to complain every day.

Sidney’s arrival is met with a different reaction.

For one thing, he’s got some clout—he’s a sixteen-year-old phenom with a Gatorade contract and the media attention that comes with it. He’s “The Next One”.

That means something, even in Russia.

For another, with Sidney comes Norm Maracle and Guy Boucher. Both Canadian. 

Maracle is a goaltender previously with the Red Wings and the Atlanta Thrashers. He’s in Magnitogorsk on a professional tryout that was granted only the day before. Management is excited about him, they hear through the grapevine. The last time Metallurg had a decent goalie was a couple of years ago.

“I figured if The Kid was playing here, I may as well check it out,” Maracle says when he introduces himself.

Evgeni and Sidney stare at him.

Maracle shrugs. “You’re a big deal, kid,” he says, nodding at Sidney. “Better get used to it.” 

Boucher, at least, Sidney knows. 

“Coach!” he says when he sees the man next to Coach Sýkora, and then continues on in heavily-accented French.

Evgeni’s brows go up. He’s known Sidney has been taking French lessons so he could speak with the French-Canadian media in the QMJHL, but Evgeni hadn’t realised he had become so proficient.

“Coach Boucher would have been one of my coaches in the Q this year,” Sidney explains after, when the staff has scrounged up new hockey gear for him and they’re changing into skates and armour in the locker room. “We met when I was at Shattuck, and he said the only reason he even signed with Rimouski was to coach me. He made a promise; he goes where I go. Doesn’t matter if it’s here or in the Q. And besides, he needed a job.”

Evgeni shakes his head, incredulous.

He has known, peripherally, that Sidney is a Big Deal, capital letters and all. It’s different to experience it up close, to see Sidney make a move and then watch the ripple effect it has across the board—more far reaching than Evgeni could have ever expected.

It’s happening right in front of him, but Evgeni still has trouble wrapping his head around the idea that two grown men—who, by all accounts, could have signed elsewhere—had come to Russia because of Sidney. Because he is Sidney Crosby.

Sidney’s first media appearance had been back when he was just seven years old, and he’s been doing interviews since he was fourteen, but when he signed the sponsorship deal with Gatorade just after his sixteenth birthday, Sidney called him and said, “It’s more money than my dad would make in four years. I’m not even an NHLer, Geno, and they want to pay me all this money.”

Evgeni had told him to shut up and be grateful. “Can pay house loan with Gatorade money.”

Except he can’t, because Evgeni knows that Sidney can’t touch any of the money until he’s eighteen, as agreed upon by himself, his parents, and his agent.

The money may be frozen, but it’s more than Evgeni has.

 _Soon_ , he reminds himself.

“Ready?” Sidney asks as they step onto the ice. He leans on his new stick, testing the flex of the shaft and the curve of his blade—practically non-existent. He looks up at Evgeni, eyes gleaming. “Hockey, Geno!” he says, and Evgeni can’t help but be sucked in by his obvious excitement and delight.

“Hockey,” he agrees, and ignores the sneering faces of a few select teammates.

He’ll show them, he thinks. He’ll wipe away their sneers. They both will. Sidney and Evgeni. Together.

**

It takes four line rushes, seventeen minutes, and one exploding stick for Coach Sýkora to decide that Sidney should never attempt to play wing, ever.

“You’re a fucking disaster,” Coach snaps at him, and Evgeni is so busy laughing at the insulted look on Sidney’s face he’s not even bothered by having to surrender the centreman position.

He’s played wing before, and besides, it’s not as if Evgeni is going to complain. He will accept whatever role they give him and play his best hockey. And then they’ll see.

Practice is hard, like always. Having Sidney there makes it simultaneously better and worse. 

Better for having a friendly face among his teammates, someone Evgeni can look to and expect a beaming grin in return. Someone Evgeni knows will have his back, always—even if they’re not meshing on the ice, _at all_.

Worse because Evgeni, already at the bottom of the food chain, just dropped even further.

“Watch it, brat.” Someone shoulders into him, harder than necessary, and when Evgeni looks up, he sees his captain.

Sergei Osipov.

The man is just a few years shy of forty, and has been playing for Metallurg since the early nineties.

He’s not a fan of Evgeni.

“Sorry,” Evgeni mumbles, because that’s what you do when your captain tells you to watch it.

Osipov bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile and skates away.

Next to Evgeni, Sidney bristles. “Who _was_ that? He’s the one who bumped into you!” Sidney hisses out in English. He glares at Osipov’s back, insulted on Evgeni’s behalf.

Evgeni ducks his head, hiding a smile. “Is captain,” he says. “Sergei Osipov. Should not make angry, Sidka.” He glances back up at Sidney to make sure he takes his warning seriously.

Sidney is surprisingly confrontational, Evgeni has come to learn. His demeanour is usually calm and placid, but he always stands up for what he believes is right.

The last thing Evgeni needs is Sidney catching beef with their captain—or worse, management—because of Evgeni.

Sidney grumbles unhappily. “Fine. As long as he doesn’t keep being an ass. I won’t let him bully us, Geno.”

Evgeni shakes his head, feeling a tendril of warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his fingers. _Us_ , he’d said.

He is so stubborn, his Sidka. Stubborn and loyal. Evgeni kind of loves it.

Before the end of practice, Sidney makes sure to personally introduce himself to all of their teammates. Evgeni trails after him dutifully, translating when necessary.

He has to hold back a smile when Sidney is shaking Osipov’s hand; he’s obviously squeezing as hard as he can while Osipov, a mountain of a man with the strength to match, mostly looks bemused.

A little intrigued too, maybe. He keeps eyeing the two of them thoughtfully. It’s the most pensive Evgeni has ever seen him.

Most of the guys seem to like Sidney well enough, if not finding him a little intense. They start calling him Crosya, and when Sidney looks to him for answers, Evgeni explains, “Is play on Crosby. But little bit more friendly. Is good. Like how people call me Zhenya.”

Sidney stares at him, head tilted to one side. “Like Sidka too?” he asks, because Evgeni has never really told Sidney why he calls him that.

The truth is that _Sidka_ is maybe a little bit embarrassing and a little childish too, but it’s part of them both. A little Russian and a little English. Evgeni feels closer to him, knowing that Sidney lets him call him that. That he’s so willing to accept a Russian naming tradition that is so common and integral to Evgeni’s people.

It feels important. A lot of things about Sidney feels important. “Yes,” Evgeni agrees. “Like Sidka. Mean you one of us.”

It also probably says a little—or a lot—about how Evgeni feels about Sidney. He decides to keep this to himself.

After practice, they return to the locker room for a shower and to change back into their street clothes.

Evgeni uses the opportunity to sneak a look at Sidney, because it’s the locker room and he can’t not.

Turns out, Sidney’s ass really is that big. Evgeni is appreciative. He’s also not the only one looking.

Evgeni isn’t quite as sure how to feel about that. Sidney is sixteen, and Evgeni seventeen. They’re just kids, really. There is a couple of guys on the team who are only eighteen, but otherwise everyone is in their twenties or older.

It feels wrong for them to be checking out Sidney in the locker room, even if Evgeni is probably a massive hypocrite for thinking so.

Osipov must agree, though. He snaps out, “Fucking hell, Crosby. Cover that thing up,” when Sidney walks out from the showers, naked; he doesn’t seem awkward at all.

“I’m getting blinded by your pasty white ass. Someone hand me a pair of sunglasses. Fuck.” 

As far as chirps go, it’s incredibly tame, but it does the job. The guys laugh and avert their eyes, and someone makes a joke about how Osipov is so old he won’t need the sunglasses; he’s practically blind anyway.

Sidney blinks at them, confused, and turns his head to look over his shoulder and down at his ass. Besides his name and the swearing, _ass_ is probably the one word he’d understood of that.

In the stall next to Evgeni’s, Konstantin laughs gently.

He’s one of the few guys on the team Evgeni had liked instinctively, and he’s managed to survive a practice on their wing where Sidney and Evgeni had spent most of it arguing, because moving Sidney to centre had helped, but there is still a noticeable lack of on-ice chemistry between them.

It pisses them both off.

As a linemate, Konstantin is just what they need. Laidback and cheerful; someone who won’t take sides but who will call them out on their bullshit. He’s such a calming presence, Evgeni keeps forgetting that Konstantin is only a year older than him.

He’s a good player. Better than a fourth liner, anyway.

Evgeni thinks between the three of them, their line could be something pretty special once they’ve worked out their issues.

“Should cover ass, Crosya,” Konstantin tells Sidney in English. “Too big for us mortals.” He’s one of the few guys on the team who is more than a little decent at English—“I practice a lot,” he’d told them earlier. “For NHL one day. Maybe.”

Sidney sniffs delicately and cocks his hip to one side, smacking his own ass deliberately. “You _wish_ you had my ass,” he says, and Evgeni groans and covers his eyes with a hand, embarrassed on Sidney’s behalf.

Konstantin laughs again, and from somewhere in the room, someone lets out a loud wolf whistle.

Sidney grins at them all smugly, and really, the only sensible thing for Evgeni to do here is throw Sidney’s jeans at him.

It hits him square in the face.

**

They are about to leave the arena when Sidney is pulled aside by Velichkin for a meeting with management that Evgeni is very pointedly not invited to.

“He’ll be provided with an interpreter,” Velichkin says when Evgeni opens his mouth to argue. “Don’t worry.”

Evgeni holds back a snort. Telling him not to worry is like telling him not to breathe. He’s going to do both.

“Hey,” Sidney says. He nudges Evgeni’s shoulder with his, closing his hand around Evgeni’s for just a second before he lets go again. “I’ll be fine, okay? See you in a minute.”

Evgeni nods. He doesn’t like it, but he lets him go.

Sidney is gone for more than a minute. Evgeni spends the time waiting by pacing the hall outside Velichkin’s office, sneaking glances at the door every so often.

Evgeni has never been a very patient person. He recognises this about himself, and just twenty minutes without knowing what’s happening with Sidney on the other side of the door has him pushing the boundaries of his already limited well of patience.

He’s about ready to break down the damn door when it finally opens and Sidney walks out. Followed by Evgeni’s agent.

“Hello, Evgeni,” Barry says.

Evgeni blinks. He looks from Sidney to Barry, brows furrowed in confusion “Eh. Hello?” 

“JP got in yesterday. He’s here on behalf of Pat and the agency. He was my interpreter,” Sidney explains in English.

“Just going over the details of Sidney’s contract with the team, and what we’re all expecting of each other,” Barry says. He reaches out to give Evgeni a friendly pat on the shoulder and switches to Russian. “I would like to speak with you as well, Evgeni. Do you have time for lunch?”

Evgeni nods. “Yes, of course.” He looks over at Sidney, considering. “Do you mind if Sidney joins us? I’m starving, and he probably is too.”

Sidney looks at them, confused, until Evgeni explains, “Food,” and then he brightens. He nods vigorously. “Hungry,” he confirms.

Barry eyes the two of them, probably noting the way they’ve already gravitated towards each other, standing closer than necessary. Barry is wise enough not to comment. He shakes his head. “I just gave you the phone number,” he says nonsensically, and Evgeni grins in amusement while Sidney looks bemused.

“Come on, then,” Barry says. “I’ll treat you to lunch.”

**

Lunch is at Barry’s hotel just ten minutes outside the city centre. It’s a relatively new hotel, Evgeni thinks, fancy enough that the dress code should be on the upscale of nice. Evgeni and Sidney are greeted with some raised brows as they walk through the doors, but no one says anything.

Probably Barry’s suit balances out Evgeni’s sweats and Sidney’s jeans and their matching _Metallurg_ hoodies.

Barry gives his name to the restaurant hostess, and they’re guided to a table for four near the windows. Evgeni sits down next to Sidney, elbowing him in the side gently and grinning when Sidney hisses at him to stop being a jerk. It’s not until they’ve placed their orders and another man is walking up to their table that Evgeni realises the fourth plate is not just an extra sitting.

“Sorry I’m late,” the man says.

“Gennady,” Barry greets as he gets to his feet. He shakes hands with the man, exchanging some simple pleasantries before turning to introduce him to Sidney and Evgeni, switching to English for Sidney’s benefit.

“Evgeni, Sidney, this is Gennady Ushakov. He is a representative of our firm and will be your agent here in Russia. Gennady, these are your new clients, Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you boys,” Gennady says when they’ve all shook hands and he’s taken the available seat next to Barry. His English is accented, but more than decent. “Especially you, Evgeni. I have heard a lot about you.”

Evgeni startles. “Me?”

Barry nods, and with an apologetic look at Sidney, says in Russian, “I’ve been telling Gennady about you since you first signed with us. We had always planned for him to become your agent here in Russia when you started playing for the A-team. I’d be introducing you to Gennady today even if Sidney hadn’t been here.”

He stares at Evgeni intently, and Evgeni finds himself straightening in his seat, swallowing nervously at the look of his keen eyes.

“There will be more attention on you now, Evgeni,” Barry goes on. “More interest from the national team and potential sponsors. Which means more work to do. Of course, I am still your agent and will be working closely with Gennady, but I cannot go back and forth between the States and Russia as often as I would like, and it’s important that you have someone who can follow you more closely.”

“My base of operations is in Moscow,” Gennady says. “But I have an apartment here in Magnitogorsk. I’ll probably be here most weekends.”

“We think you are a tremendous talent, Evgeni. We believe you will do great things, and we want you to know that we are giving you the attention and follow-up that you deserve.” Barry glances briefly at Sidney before looking back at Evgeni, his gaze knowing. “It is no less than what your friend here gets,” he says.

Evgeni swallows again, struck silent.

He’s been a little jealous of Sidney. Not necessarily because of the attention he gets, but because of the respect and reputation that precedes him.

People hear Sidney’s name and they think, _Best prospect in a generation_. They see his name and they hear Wayne Gretzky say, “This kid could beat my records.”

It’s not all good. Evgeni knows that. He knows the kind of abuse Sidney has suffered through, that one of the reasons he ended up playing for Shattuck Saint Mary’s is because it would be better for him to leave Cole Harbour. Safer. He was getting death threats and had parents shouting insults and swears at him from the stands.

The more he is singled out by the media, the more he is singled out on the ice.

Evgeni knows all this. But at the base of it, what it all means is that Sidney is _good_. It is universally agreed upon that he is good.

Evgeni wants to be the same. He wants that same consideration.

It’s stupid, because Evgeni had been named to the team already before anyone knew there would be a lockout in the Q, but.

When Velichkin called him and told him to keep Sidney happy, for a moment there, Evgeni had wondered if that was the only reason he was on the team.

To make Sidney happy.

Evgeni is worth more than that. _Barry_ thinks he’s worth more than that.

To hear him say so aloud means more to him than Evgeni can explain.

He feels Sidney reach for his hand under the table, closing his fingers around Evgeni’s and squeezing gently in comfort. He is looking at Evgeni with worried eyes.

Evgeni doesn’t think Sidney would have even understood half of Barry’s speech, but he’s looking so worried on Evgeni’s behalf, glancing back at Barry and Gennady and looking ready to throw down if Evgeni only gives him a reason to.

He is reminded, suddenly, that Sidney came to Russia because of Evgeni _,_ because Sidney wanted to play with him.

Sidney could have gone anywhere, but he had chosen Russia and he had chosen Evgeni. That means something.

Evgeni shakes his head and smiles at Sidney, silently letting him know that everything is fine. He squeezes his fingers in thanks and looks back across the table.

“I—Thank you. I appreciate that. Truly,” Evgeni tells Barry, and nods at Gennady to include him as well.

“Of course,” Barry says, and next to him, Gennady winks at Evgeni. The rest of lunch is spoken in English.

**

Barry graciously offers to drive them back to the house after lunch. “I paid a minor fortune for a rental. I may as well use the damn car.”

Evgeni readily accepts, already dreaming about next year when he’ll be legally able to get his own license.

“And what car will you get?” Sidney asks, voice teasing.

Evgeni remembers telling him on the phone once about the month when he was ten and wanted to become a race driver so bad he was ready to quit hockey altogether. He’s wanted a Porsche ever since.

“Not one you can drive,” Evgeni chirps back. “Ass too big for seats.”

Sidney punches him in the arm.

At home, Mama is making dinner in the kitchen, Beef Stroganoff, and Evgeni and Sidney just ate lunch, but Evgeni can feel his stomach rumbling anyway. It smells amazing.

“Oh my god,” Sidney moans, sniffing the air obnoxiously. “Do you think your mom would want to move back to Canada with me at the end of the season? I obviously need her more than you.”

Evgeni shoves him. “Have own Mama.”

“Not one that cooks like this,” Sidney grumbles under his breath, and if Evgeni ever meets Mrs. Crosby in person, that’s the first thing he’s telling her.

“Asshole,” Sidney says at Evgeni’s smug grin, probably guessing at what he is thinking.

“Are you boys hungry?” Mama asks when they amble into the kitchen, noses first. She smiles at them knowingly. “Set the table for me, please. We’re waiting until Denis and Volodya get home from work.”

“Yes, hungry,” Sidney says in his careful Russian. “Thank you.”

It doesn’t matter that they ate lunch just an hour ago—they’re growing hockey players. They’ll burn more calories than they can consume if they’re not careful. They’re always hungry.

Evgeni is pretty sure it’s a hockey player's default state of being.

They set the table, Evgeni making sure to name aloud what everything is called in Russian so Sidney can repeat after him, murmuring the words under his breath again and again.

Evgeni goes to get the utensils from the drawer next to the dishwasher, and Sidney says, “Knife,” when he sees the five knives Evgeni has holding in his left hand.

“Knife,” Evgeni agrees, and Sidney beams at him happily.

Mama laughs. She says, “Knife, kni _ves_ ,” making sure that Sidney notices the difference between singular and plural.

Sidney repeats the words dutifully.

Dinner is a lively affair of Russian and English. Papa wants to know how practice went, if Coach Sýkora still knows what he’s doing, and if Osipov has finally croaked or is still hanging on.

“Volodya!” Mama scolds, but Papa only shrugs.

“He’s ancient,” he says unapologetically, and Evgeni probably should not have told him about how Osipov has made it his mission to make Evgeni as miserable as possible during practices.

Papa has little sympathies for bullies, even if his advice to Evgeni had been to “Keep your head down, Zhenya. This is your chance to make it big. Don’t let him ruin that for you.”

After dinner, Sidney excuses himself to their room so he can call his mother. Magnitogorsk is six hours ahead of Cole Harbour, and Sidney has decided that the easiest time to call is during his parents’ lunch hour, when he knows they’ll be able to talk for thirty minutes or so. He’ll call his dad next time.

Evgeni tries to give Sidney his privacy—he thinks it’s hard for Sidney, to be so far away from his family even if it’s not the first time he’s lived away from them. Evgeni doesn’t want to intrude, but he worries.

It feels like hours, but it can’t have been more than twenty minutes before Sidney finds him downstairs in the living room. He curls up next to Evgeni on the couch even though there is plenty of space with just Denis there too.

Evgeni lifts his arm and tucks Sidney close, steadfastly ignoring Denis’ incredulous stare and the disbelieving shake of his head.

“Everything okay?” Evgeni asks.

Sidney nods, but he’s quiet. A little sad, maybe. 

“Sidka?” Evgeni presses. He turns his head so he can nose at Sidney’s temple, holding back a smile when Sidney bats at him half-heartedly.

He’s quiet for a moment, but finally Sidney says, “Taylor has her first soccer game today. I just—I’d probably be able to go, if I was still in Canada. With the lockout, I’d be at home now if I hadn’t come here.”

Evgeni pulls a face. Sidney has only been here for three days. He hates the idea that Sidney might be regretting his decision to come already. That he’s unhappy here.

Evgeni doesn’t ever want to see him unhappy.

“I don’t regret coming here, Geno,” Sidney says, shaking his head as if reading Evgeni’s thoughts. 

“I’m just sad I’ll miss Taylor’s game. She’s my little sister, you know. Last year I was at Shattuck and now I’m here.” Sidney shrugs, but he’s pressing closer to Evgeni’s side. “It just feels like I’m missing so much of her life. Her first day of school, her birthday, and now this.” He frowns unhappily. “I’ll miss her next birthday too. It’s in March.”

Evgeni is not sure what to say to that; if they make the playoffs, they’ll still be playing in March.

Evgeni is the little brother. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have a younger sibling, especially one as young as Taylor. She’s seven, Evgeni thinks, maybe eight.

He wonders what she thinks of her older brother, of Sidney, who is so far away from her, who is missing her birthdays and her football games, but who is doing what he loves.

Evgeni wonders if she’s old enough to understand that Sidney is going to make a career out of playing hockey. That it’s not just a hobby or something he does for fun.

He wonders if she’s proud of Sidney, like Evgeni knows Denis is of him. He thinks she must be.

“Will forgive you, Sidka,” Evgeni says. He tightens his grip, holding Sidney just a little bit firmer. “You her big brother. Will forgive you anything.” He sneaks a glance over at Denis, and Denis’ English is far worse than Evgeni’s, but he still thinks his brother might have understood a little of that.

Denis offers him a small smile.

“You think so?” Sidney asks, voice small. 

“Really think so,” Evgeni promises. He pokes at Sidney’s cheek teasingly. “Call after game. Ask how it go, if she score goal.”

“It’ll be late, though. We have an early practice tomorrow.”

“Call anyway. Good for you,” Evgeni says with a shrug. He already feels drowsy, and the idea of staying up later than usual is torturous, especially with an early start tomorrow, but this is something Sidney needs.

If nothing else, that makes it tolerable.

Sidney stares at him for a long moment. After a beat, he smiles. It’s this soft, small slip of a smile that has his eyes crinkling in the corners; it makes Evgeni’s heart skip alarmingly.

“Okay, I’ll call.”

“Good,” Evgeni says firmly. 

He absently rubs a hand over the left side of his chest, and tries not to think about how good Sidney feels pressed up against his side.

**

They are seven minutes late to practice the next morning. 

Only Sidney is surprised by this.

**

The first game of the season mercifully takes place in Magnitogorsk. Evgeni is grateful; he doesn’t feel up for travelling, especially not when they are still having difficulties meshing on the ice. Even with Sidney playing centre and Konstantin keeping up with both of them.

“Chemistry takes time, sometimes. It doesn’t always happen instantaneously. Be patient.”

Sidney nods gravely at Coach Boucher’s words of wisdom, but Evgeni grits his teeth. He doesn’t understand why this is so hard for them. They get along so well off the ice. It should translate to on it as well. It’s beyond frustrating.

Sidney doesn’t seem particularly bothered, though. “I think we’re too alike,” he says when Coach Boucher rewinds the tape of their latest scrimmage and presses play. Sidney tilts his head, eyes narrowed on the little screen in the video room.

“I agree,” Boucher says. “You’re both too selfish with the puck.”

It’s not an insult, Evgeni knows. It just means that they both like to hang on to the puck, that they’re both playmakers.

He finds the insult in it anyway.

“Need break,” he snaps when Boucher rewinds the tape again. They’re going on forty minutes now, and if Evgeni has to analyse his own play one more time, he is going to scream in frustration.

Sidney frowns, but Boucher looks at him knowingly. “Take ten,” he says, and then, just as Evgeni stands stiffly from his chair, adds, “you know, I think the two of you would be really great on the power play. More space for you to set up plays. You’d read off each other well, I think.”

Evgeni snorts. “Won’t play power play.” Osipov would probably revolt before allowing a couple of fourth liners on the man-advantage. He’d throw a hissy fit like the diva he is, Evgeni thinks a little meanly.

Osipov has almost been bearable the last couple of days, but this morning he’d been back to being a bonafide asshole.

Evgeni hasn’t even done anything to provoke him, but—“Move, you fucking brat,” Osipov had barked at him earlier, before roughly shouldering past Evgeni and into the locker room. He’d spent all of morning skate glaring at Evgeni.

“Maybe,” Boucher says, but he looks thoughtful. “Actually, let’s end it here, guys. Go home, take a nap before you come back. Game’s not until another few hours.”

Sidney sighs, but he nods and gets up from his chair, following Evgeni out the door. “See you later, Coach.”

Denis is their chauffeur of the day, but he’s not due to pick them up until another thirty minutes or so. Still, Evgeni rushes through packing his gear, ignoring the curious looks Sidney keeps sending him as he packs up his own stuff. Evgeni wants to tell him to hurry up. He has to physically hold himself back from reaching for Sidney, itching to drag him through the halls by the hand.

He’s anxious to get out of the building and away from the rink, but keeps his hands by his side, clenching around nothing.

There’s still time left when they get outside, and there is nothing else to do but sit on the steps outside the player entrance of the arena, waiting for Denis to pick them up.

“You’re agitated today,” Sidney says after a while. He leans against Evgeni’s side, giving him a friendly nudge. “Worried?” he asks in Russian. “Nervous for game?”

“Nervous _about_ ,” Evgeni says. “And no. I just—I’m frustrated, I guess.” He can feel the weight of Sidney’s eyes on him, and when he turns his head to look, Evgeni blinks at how close their faces are.

Sidney’s eyes always seem so impossibly big when they’re this close, the colour of his irises a myriad of green and brown.

“Play good hockey, Geno,” Sidney says, and it comes out hushed and private in the stillness around them. “Play good game.”

Sidney licks his lips, and Evgeni is absolutely helpless to keep his eyes from dipping to his mouth. He wonders if Sidney’s lips are as lush as they look. If they’ll taste as sweet as Evgeni has caught himself imagining a couple of times.

“You too,” he says. “Together. We’ll play the best hockey. We’ll show them, everyone.”

Sidney smiles at that. It’s that small smile, the soft one that makes Evgeni’s heart skip a beat and then thump a little faster. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Sidney seems to be tilting towards him, so close it would be nothing at all for Evgeni to purse his lips and press them against Sidney’s.

“Geno, I—”

The sound of someone abusing their car horn has them jolting apart. 

Evgeni turns guiltily, looking at where Denis is parked in the parking lot and waving at them impatiently from the driver’s seat of the car.

 _Come on_ , he mouths.

Evgeni clears his throat. “We should go, before Denis gets arrested for disturbing the peace or something.”

“What?” Sidney looks at him blankly, and Evgeni holds back a sigh. Sidney’s Russian is still mostly limited to the basics, to food, and hockey. He starts Russian lessons next week. He doesn’t really need to, is only staying for one season, but Sidney insisted.

“Should go,” Evgeni repeats in English. “Denis wait. Most impatient.”

“Like you,” Sidney says, and nudges Evgeni’s shoulder again to show he’s teasing. Evgeni grunts, but he can’t really disagree with that. 

They throw their bags in the trunk and slide into the backseat of the car. Evgeni thinks it probably says something about them that Denis doesn’t even roll his eyes at the way Sidney and Evgeni press up against each other, sitting far closer than necessary. He just ignites the engine and starts driving.

Evgeni rests his head against Sidney’s and closes his eyes, listening to the hum of the car and Sidney’s steady breathing. He hears Sidney say something, but can’t make out what, too tired to work out the English right now. There are fingers brushing through his hair. It feels nice. He falls asleep between one breath and the next.

**

Coach Boucher is right. They’re fucking _magic_ on the power play. 

Coach Sýkora is pleased.

“That’s more like it, Crosya,” he barks at Sidney when they step off the ice and shuffle down the bench after Sidney’s power-play goal—it’s Sidney’s first of the game, his first of the season, and Evgeni doesn’t get an assist on it, but he knows that goal wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t kept the puck from leaving the zone up the half boards.

They wouldn’t be up 1-0 if Evgeni and Sidney hadn’t been able to read each other’s intentions, to know where the other would be before they even played the puck.

Or that’s what it had felt like, anyway. Finally.

“At least you’re not looking like such a fucking disaster out there,” Coach continues. “Christ.” 

Evgeni snickers, and then bursts out laughing, leaning against Konstantin when he is kind enough to translate Coach’s words for Sidney.

Sidney sputters, outraged. “Best at hockey,” he tells anyone who’ll listen. “ _Best_.” 

Konstantin pats him on the helmet kindly. “Yes, yes, Crosya. You’re a hockey god in a tiny body. Your powers rest in that massive ass of yours, I’m sure.”

Even Osipov cracks a smile at that, and the guys around them laugh, reaching over to pat whatever part of Sidney they can reach.

“Good job, Crosya,” they tell him. “That was a beautiful tap-in.”

Evgeni isn’t sure how much of it Sidney understands, but he’s beaming at them happily all the same.

“Crosya,” Coach barks. “Your line is up. Get out there and get me another goal.”

That, at least, he seems to understands, and this time, Evgeni doesn’t have to tap Sidney’s thigh to make sure he’s following them over the boards and onto the ice like he’d had to do a couple of times earlier in the game.

Now in the third period, with a one-goal lead, Sidney seems settled in his skin, less tentative than he’d been at the beginning of the game.

Evgeni thinks the nerves and the seven thousand screaming fans must have gotten the best of him for a moment there. It’s not as if Evgeni himself had been completely unaffected, but a few shifts into the game had the nerves bleeding into steely determination, and the cheers of the crowd has faded away to where he’s barely conscious of it.

He thinks it must be the same for Sidney.

The language barrier is less of a problem now too. Evgeni knows it helps that Sidney can just jump over the boards, skate onto the ice, and play. Hockey is a universal language, after all.

They’re still not meshing as well as they could be, but their passes are connecting, and Konstantin is a good fit with them both, speedy enough to keep up with Evgeni’s long legs and Sidney’s powerful strides.

At least they’ve played well enough that Coach had given the three of them that brief time on the man-advantage—“It’s not like you can fuck it up even more. Fuck.”

It had been their third power play of the game, and both the first and second units had failed to generate any offence on all of them. Not Evgeni’s line though.

Twenty-three seconds was all Evgeni and his linemates needed for Sidney to put the puck in the net.

Evgeni feels unreasonably smug about that.

They fight hard for another goal, but Sibir’s defense grows stingier and stingier as the seconds tick off the clock. Finally, with just over a minute left in the period, Sidney loses a face off in the defensive zone that has Evgeni moving towards where the puck is already headed straight for the left boards.

“I can’t solve him,” Sidney had told him on the bench just a couple of shifts ago. “But he’ll snap it towards the left boards, you can bet on it. Just trust me, okay? Trust me. Get there before the other guy does.”

Sidney loses the face off, and the puck goes exactly where he had predicted. Evgeni is already moving. He reaches the puck first.

The ice is shit this late in the game, the puck bouncing everywhere, and Evgeni just barely manages to corral it. He goes barreling down the length of the rink, his long legs eating away at the ice, past one d-man and then the other, and Fomichyov is already dropping to close off the five hole, squaring out to take away the angle above his glove side.

He’s not expecting Evgeni to deke around him. No one ever does with his size. They don’t realise how skilled he is at stick handling or how soft his hands are.

He feels more than hears Sidney crashing into him, screaming his name and shaking his shoulders in celebration of the goal. He feels the vibration of the glass behind him, moving with the pounding hands of a dozen fans pushing back against it from the other side.

 _This_ , Evgeni thinks. This is what he wants. What he’s been waiting for. This is what Evgeni is worth.

The goal is unassisted. 

Sibir tries desperately to make a bid for it with the remaining few seconds, but Maracle turns aside every shot and shuts them out. The goalie raises his stick to the crowd victoriously when the clock runs out to end the game.

The crowd roars its approval back at him.

2-0 is barely more than adequate, Coach tells them in the locker room after, but he looks pleased, and Evgeni looks from Boucher standing next to him, to Konstantin to Maracle to Sidney, all tired but radiating satisfaction. Osipov too.

Evgeni feels Sidney’s hand brush against his. They share a private smile. He thinks, _Not bad for our first game._

Not bad at all, actually. 

**

Evgeni gets roaring drunk that night.

They’re bullied into going out with a few of the younger guys by Konstantin, to celebrate the win, he insists, and no one seems to care that Evgeni and Sidney technically aren’t old enough to drink yet.

Not even the bouncers at the club.

Sidney is less than impressed, but he nods solemnly when Evgeni turns to him expectantly. “Team bonding is important,” he says. He tags along, but spends the night steadfastly turning down shot after shot and instead indulges in his newfound obsession with Russian chocolate, which is, apparently, “To die for.”

Evgeni has vague memories of having stopped at a grocery store to buy the chocolate before they reached the club, but he’s finding it hard to keep track of the details.

He’s more concerned with protecting Sidney’s honour. If Sidney doesn’t want to drink that is his business, and Evgeni is not about to force him to do something he’s not comfortable with. He glowers fiercely at one of the Sergeis when he tries to wheedle Sidney into at least accepting a beer—“For the goal!” Sergei says. “It’s tradition.”

Evgeni is about to tell Sergei to fuck off, but Sidney sighs, reaches for the bottle and takes a swig of the beer, grimacing comically before passing it on to Evgeni.

“There,” Sidney says firmly, staring Sergei down. He looks more like a ruffled kitten than anything else, but Sergei looks pleased. He grins happily at Sidney, satisfied by this small show of participation.

Evgeni laughs and worms an arm around Sidney’s shoulder. “My fierce Sidka,” he croons against his neck.

He’s spent the night throwing back all the drinks his teammates keep putting in front of him, and Sidney’s too.

If he was less drunk he probably wouldn’t have licked at the sweat trailing down Sidney’s exposed collarbone.

It’s hot inside the club, and the V of Sidney’s shirt has torn at some point. Evgeni can’t take his eyes away from the exposed skin.

“Okay,” Sidney says. He pushes gently at Evgeni, urging him out of their booth. “You’ve had enough, I think. Your mom is gonna yell at me for bringing you home in such a sorry state.”

“Won’t,” Evgeni slurs, “she like you better than me. You her favourite now.” Which maybe isn’t so much true as it is Evgeni projecting. Sidney is _his_ favourite, after all.

Sidney smiles at him fondly. “You’re drunk,” he says. He manages to get them both out of the booth and upright, and then grunts as Evgeni lets his weight fall against him, leaning against Sidney heavily.

Evgeni hears him sigh, and when he refuses to budge, content to curl his arms around Sidney’s shoulders and just stay like that for the rest of the night, Evgeni feels Sidney pat him gently on the hip to get him moving.

“Do you need help, Crosya? Are you good to get him home?”

Evgeni thinks that must be Konstantin, but he’s too busy playing with the fine hair at Sidney’s nape to take any real notice. It’s really soft. Untouched by the gel Sidney normally uses. He should go without more often.

Evgeni should probably tell him that.

“Could you call us a taxi, maybe? I can’t reach my phone like this. I wouldn’t even know what number to call. Or what to say. My Russian is not that good yet.”

Konstantin laughs, but Evgeni can’t focus on that when Sidney is so close and smells so good. Somehow, one of Evgeni’s hands slips from Sidney’s shoulder and drops down to the small of his back, until it settles at his waistline. Evgeni fingers the edge of his jeans, his thumb brushing just inside. He doesn’t think he’s imagining Sidney’s sharp intake of breath.

“Geno.”

Evgeni grunts and presses closer. If they were home right now he could just take Sidney to bed. Lay him down and crawl on top of him, press their cocks together and steal all the kisses he so desperately wants.

It would feel so good, he thinks.

“Geno,” Sidney says again. “Come on, we—” He breaks of, breath hitching when Evgeni runs his tongue down the length of Sidney’s neck again. “We can’t do this here. We shouldn’t at all. You’re drunk, Geno.”

Evgeni is, in fact, drunk. But he would very much like to do this even if he wasn’t.

He should probably be telling Sidney that, but then he’s being pushed into walking and suddenly they’re outside and Konstantin is helping Sidney ease him into the backseat of a taxi.

He hears Sidney and Konstantin talk; he thinks Konstantin must be relaying their address to the taxi driver, and then finally Sidney is climbing into the backseat too, and the car starts moving and Sidney is not sitting next to Evgeni like he usually does.

Evgeni just finds that appalling. The separation is unbearable. Unacceptable.

He reaches out, closing a hand around Sidney’s arm. He tugs until Sidney tilts sideways into Evgeni. It’s close, but not close enough.

Sidney laughs as Evgeni manhandles him onto his lap, giggling helplessly and saying, “ _Geno_ ,” as if he knows he shouldn’t indulge him but making no move to get off his lap either.

Evgeni smiles, pleased. “Stay,” he says. He curls one arm around Sidney’s middle, holding him in place. His other hand settles on the inside of Sidney’s jean-clad thigh.

Evgeni lets it rest there, fingers stroking lazily. Sidney lets him.

Their driver gives them a look, but mercifully refrains from commenting. Evgeni reminds himself to tip him well.

It’s late when they reach the house. Late enough that it’s just a few more hours before Denis and Papa have to get up for work, and Mama will be puttering around the house, cooking and doing the ever-mounting load of laundry.

Evgeni tries to be quiet as they walk up the stairs, but he keeps giggling over nothing, laughing even louder when Sidney shushes him frantically.

“Move, you big oaf,” Sidney tells him.

Evgeni doesn’t really know what an oaf is, but he’s pretty sure he should take offence, so he does. “ _You_ oaf,” he says nonsensically, which is obviously the comeback of all comebacks. Evgeni feels satisfied.

Sidney rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and his lips look really red and inviting, and if Evgeni just leaned forward a few inches, he could finally taste them.

Sidney blinks at him. He draws back. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let’s, yeah, let’s get you to bed. You need to sleep it off.”

The mood has changed all of a sudden. The playfulness is gone, and Evgeni is mortified, caught out.

Sidney must be horrified, he thinks. Must have noticed the way Evgeni’s been staring at him, not at all subtle.

Licking Sidney’s neck at the club was okay with their teammates around—obviously it wasn’t going to progress beyond any light groping on Evgeni’s part. But now they’re home and Sidney is pulling away.

Evgeni is starting to sober up. He feels sick.

What if Sidney has just been playing along for Evgeni’s sake, because he’s a good friend? What if Evgeni has been taken advantage of that, forcing himself on Sidney?

Sidney is away from his family and his life back in Canada. He’s away from everything that is familiar to him. He depends on Evgeni for so much while he’s here in Russia. What if Evgeni has made him feel like he couldn’t say no?

The thought is so unbearable, Evgeni throws up.

“Oh, Geno,” Sidney says. He looks at Evgeni’s mess in the middle of the stairs, dismayed. “Come on. Off to bed with you, and then I’ll clean this up, okay?”

Evgeni is too distraught to protest. He lets himself be guided the rest of the way to their bedroom, pliant as Sidney helps him out of his jeans and shirt. Evgeni mutters, “Sorry,” under his breath, over and over.

Sidney shakes his head and pushes him towards the bed. “There’s nothing to be sorry about,” he says. He helps pull the covers over Evgeni, tucking him in like a small child. “Go to sleep, Geno,” Sidney says softly. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

Evgeni is dreading it already. He thinks, _What have I done?_ , and closes his eyes so he won’t have to see Sidney walk out of the room.

Miraculously, he falls asleep before Sidney returns.

**

“You didn’t force yourself on me,” is the first thing Sidney says in the morning.

Evgeni blinks at him. He says, “What?” and then abruptly turns his head, retching into the bucket next to his bed. There’s already sick in it.

“You’ve been throwing up all night,” Sidney says when Evgeni turns to look at him for answers. “I got you a bucket from the cupboard. You seem to forget every time.” He looks a little amused, smiling at Evgeni from his side of the bed.

He looks nothing at all like what Evgeni would expect a victim of sexual assault to look like.

And Evgeni must be thinking aloud because Sidney rolls his eyes and groans. “You didn’t force yourself on me, Geno,” he says again.

“But—”

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to, and if you had, I would have said stop.” He looks at Evgeni with steady, serious eyes. “And if I _had_ said stop, you would have.”

He says it with the same surety that people would say the sky is blue and the sun is hot. 

Evgeni can’t not believe him. He breathes out shakily, the rush of relief he feels almost overwhelming. “Okay,” he says.

Sidney nods, but there’s a frown on his face. He looks...not unhappy, but anxious, maybe. “I don’t know how much you remember from last night, but you apologised several times. You said you were sorry for forcing yourself on me and that you were sorry if I felt like you’d pressured me into something I didn’t want. You said you would never knowingly hurt me.”

Which is all true, because Evgeni would _never_.

He can’t remember saying any of it.

“I—”

“Geno.” Sidney looks at him intently. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it for a moment before he lets it go. He says, “I’m a virgin,” and then, “are you attracted to me?”

Evgeni blinks. For a second, his mind gets caught on the fact that Sidney is a virgin. No one has ever touched him before. Not the way Evgeni’s been longing to.

He’s unprepared for how much of a turn on he finds that.

“Yes, am attracted to you,” Evgeni says, and steels himself. He thinks that’s been rather obvious, but if Sidney needs to hear it aloud he’ll say it a thousand times over.

“I thought maybe it was the alcohol, that I was just there and you’d act the same with anyone—” Evgeni snorts. He’s a handsy and affectionate drunk, it’s true, but—

“You call me slut, Sidka?” He fakes having to yawn to hide his grin behind a hand when Sidney blanches at that.

“No!” Sidney exclaims. “Of course not. I wouldn’t! I know you’ve been sexually active for a while, and it’s healthy to explore safe, consensual sex, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of and—”

Evgeni starts at Sidney’s torrent of words. It sounds like part of a speech Sidney has heard before and is trying to piece together as best he can from memory alone. It’s not going particularly well, but not terrible either. The hockey references are maybe a little random.

It is obvious that someone has been very careful to stress upon Sidney the importance of using protection, and to always make sure that all parties are willing participants.

Sidney seems to have come away from it with the impression that sex is okay, but hockey is what’s important.

Evgeni wonders if it was Sidney’s dad who’d given him the speech, and feels a rush of sympathy for him. It must have been horrible.

Evgeni himself has escaped any such talks and only had to suffer through Denis throwing him a box of condoms and saying, “Don’t be an idiot.”

Evgeni had been having sex for months already by then.

“Sidka,” Evgeni says. “Relax. Was just joke. Bad one.”

“Oh,” Sidney says. His face is red.

Evgeni sighs. They obviously need to talk about this, but his head is killing him and his mouth tastes like something died in there. He needs a shower and food.

And to brush his teeth. Possibly twice.

“Need wash up a little, get dressed. We talk later, yes?”

“I—yes.”

Evgeni nods, satisfied. He gets out of bed, careful not to turn over the bucket. Before he leaves the room, he stops by Sidney’s side of the bed. He grabs onto one of his ankles, squeezing gently.

“We okay?” he asks, searching Sidney’s face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Sidney nods his head. He smiles at him, that small one Evgeni likes so much.

“Always,” Sidney says, and Evgeni thinks, _Yes_.

Always. 

**

Evgeni feels marginally better after having showered and gotten some food into his stomach. 

He steadfastly ignores Mama’s pointed muttering about idiot children as he devours his breakfast, and counts his blessings that they have an actual day off.

Evgeni is not sure he’d manage to stand upright on skates right now. He’s still feeling a little queasy.

Not that Sidney will let him get away with lazing around the rest of the day anyway; Evgeni is grimly aware that he will be forced along on a forty-minute jog before the day is over.

“It’s important not to get complacent,” Sidney says solemnly.

Evgeni would try to wheedle out of it, but he’d rather go for the jog than suffer through weight training, which would definitely be the alternative. Evgeni _hates_ weight training. He’ll go with the lesser of two evils every time.

Before that, though, they need to talk.

Evgeni waits until Mama says she’s going out for a doctor’s appointment. She’s been going for an annual checkup ever since she was hospitalised just a few years ago. She has a clean health of bill now, but her doctors still like to make sure everything is as it should be.

Evgeni hugs her tight before she goes. He remembers so very vividly how close they had come to losing her. “Good luck,” he says, and she smiles at him, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

“You’re a good boy, Zhenya. Remember that.” She leaves with a smile and a goodbye to Sidney. Evgeni stares after her in surprise.

“What was that about?” Sidney asks. 

Evgeni shakes his head. He has no idea.

Or maybe he does, he realises, as he looks back over at Sidney, because Evgeni’s eyes are always drawn to him whenever he’s near.

His mama doesn’t miss much.

“Nothing,” Evgeni says, and then, “should talk, Sidka. Want to say sorry again for last night. Was stupid. Drunk. But that’s no excuse.”

Sidney frowns at him. “It wasn’t—you don’t have to—” He breaks off with a sigh, clearly frustrated. “Come on. Let’s go to our room. Might as well be comfortable for this.”

Evgeni shrugs and follows Sidney up the stairs. He stubbornly remains standing when Sidney sits down on the bed and settles back against the wall. He’s looking at Evgeni expectantly, but Evgeni just shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Why?” Sidney asks. “I never asked you to stop.” He ducks his head, glancing at Evgeni from beneath his lashes. His cheeks are turning red. “I liked it,” he says quietly. “Liked you touching me like that. No one ever has, before.”

Evgeni breathes in sharply at the admission. At Sidney liking it, liking _Evgeni_ touching him. And the reminder that he is the first. That no one has ever shown Sidney how good he can feel.

“You ask if I’m attracted to you.”

“You said yes.”

Evgeni nods. “Think you pretty,” he admits, because he’s thought so before but he’s never really verbalised it. It feels strange, to think of a boy as pretty. But Sidney is, to him.

Boys don’t usually do it for Evgeni; he prefers girls. But he’s sucked dick before and liked it, and he let a teammate fuck him back when he was still in the minors. Evgeni hadn’t really cared for it all that much. Just felt weirdly stretched and too full. But he remembers his teammate, remembers Sasha, what he’d sounded like, what he’d looked like. He remembers how eager and desperate and so fucking worshipful he’d been of getting to be inside of Evgeni.

Evgeni had thought, _That. I want to try that_.

He never did with Sasha, but he’s done anal before with girls, and he’s always enjoyed it. A lot. 

He thinks it’d be different with a guy, though. Not better, just different. Or maybe it would be better, if it was with Sidney.

“I, uh.” Sidney’s blush deepens. He’s shifting restlessly on the bed, looking at Evgeni intently. He says, “I like you too. You’re very—” He gestures a hand at Evgeni helplessly.

Evgeni smirks. “You think I’m hot,” he says smugly.

“Shut up!” Sidney says. “I think you’re weird, that’s what I think.” 

Evgeni shakes his head, grinning. He walks towards the bed, climbing onto it once he reaches the edge. He settles down in front of Sidney, tugging at his ankle until he spreads his legs so Evgeni can settle between them.

Sidney looks nervous, but not scared. He accepts the hand Evgeni holds out for him and lets Evgeni pull him onto his lap.

Evgeni smiles at him, delighted. “Think I’m super hot,” he says, and snakes his arms around Sidney’s waist. It feels good to hold him close, to have Sidney’s thighs spread wide over his own.

Feels better knowing that Sidney is allowing it. He is a reassuringly solid weight on Evgeni’s lap.

“Shut up,” Sidney says again, but he doesn’t deny it. He rests his head against Evgeni’s shoulder, sweetly pliant.

Evgeni can feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. They don’t move for a while.

**

Evgeni spends most of their jog staring at Sidney’s ass and consequently trips over his own feet. Twice.

Sidney glances back at him each time, lifting his brows in question.

Evgeni isn’t fooled for a second, though. He can see the smug smile teasing at the corner of his lips.

Back at the house, Mama has dinner ready for them, and Sidney thanks her profusely in his limited Russian. Evgeni is too busy scarfing down his food to speak.

They make small talk over the table. Papa is a notorious gossip, and he tells them about the couple at work who are expecting a child, even though the man is actually married to the woman’s sister.

Evgeni tuts disapprovingly, and when he relays the story to Sidney in English, Sidney blanches. “That’s terrible,” he says, and sounds so scandalised Evgeni has to hide a smile.

They head up the stairs after dinner. They both need a shower, and Evgeni is too tired to pretend he’s doing anything but crashing into bed once he’s clean.

He roots around his drawers for a new pair of briefs and his pyjamas bottoms, ready to fight Sidney for the right to shower first.

Sidney, though, has another plan in mind.

He follows Evgeni into the bathroom and locks the door behind them, and it’s not until Evgeni has started the shower and is slipping out of his t-shirt that he even registers that Sidney is there with him. Naked.

His clothes are in a pile on the floor before him.

Evgeni stares, and it’s not even the first time he sees Sidney in the nude, not by a long shot, but this feels different. Sidney, like this, willingly on display for Evgeni, takes his breath away.

Sidney meets Evgeni’s eyes with steely determination. “I thought we could shower together.”

Evgeni chokes back a whimper. “Okay,” he says, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks, hysterically, _We haven’t even kissed yet._

Sidney nods. He struts past Evgeni and into the shower with more cool than he has any right to. 

Evgeni almost brains himself on the bathroom sink trying to get out of his shorts so he can join him.

He hasn’t been this much of a fumbling mess since he was fifteen and his next-door-neighbour had shoved her hand down his pants and jerked him off in her bedroom before her parents came home.

It was the first time anyone’s hand other than his own had touched his dick.

Squeezing into the shower with Sidney feels a little like that. Like something new and exciting. Something Evgeni hasn’t done before but could do again and again if only Sidney felt obliged to indulge him.

The shower isn’t nearly big enough for the two of them. They press close, bodies pushing up against each other, but even then, Evgeni takes the brunt of the downpour by virtue of his height alone.

Sidney doesn’t seem to mind too much. He is giggling, even as he shivers, pressing his forehead against Evgeni’s shoulder to avoid the water getting into his eyes.

Evgeni can feel him, the length of him, hardening against his thigh. He desperately wants to touch, but forcibly reminds himself that Sidney has never done any of this before. Evgeni doesn’t want to spook him or accidentally force him into anything he’s not ready for.

Evgeni is keenly aware of the first time he had been naked for another. He remembers that brief moment of terror at the thought that he would be ridiculed or that the girl would find him repulsive.

The fear had disappeared as soon as the girl had smiled at him and spread her legs invitingly, and Evgeni is determined to let Sidney set the pace of whatever this is between them, but he still wants to reassure him. He still wants Sidney to know how very much Evgeni is into him.

He has his arms wrapped around Sidney’s waist, resting his hands at the small of his back just to occupy his hands. He has to restrain himself from touching Sidney elsewhere. He says, “You feel good, Sidka. Look so pretty.”

Evgeni is so hard he could burst. His cock is pushing up against Sidney’s abs, and when Sidney looks up at him, his face a mixture of pleased and embarrassed, it is all Evgeni can do not to come right there and then.

Which is, of course, when Denis starts banging on the bathroom door. “Zhenya! Come on. You’re using up all the hot water. I need to shower, you fucker.”

They’re stunned silent for a beat, and then Sidney bursts into another set of giggles, and Evgeni hangs his head, mournful.

“Idiot brother,” he complains.

Sidney grins at him. “You love him.” He reaches for the soap on the rack behind Evgeni. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up.”

In the end, showering together turns out less sexy than Evgeni had anticipated when he’d followed Sidney into the stall, but then he hadn’t expected to be interrupted by his brother halfway through.

He thinks if they ever do this again, it’ll be better for sure. _Evgeni_ will be better.

The dumbfounded look on Denis’ face when they walk out of the bathroom together—Evgeni in his pyjamas bottoms but shirtless, and Sidney just in a towel—is a pretty fair trade off for having been interrupted.

**

Four weeks later, Sidney appears to have settled into life in Russia. 

Evgeni is pleased that they still haven’t tired of each other. Far from it, actually. Spending as much time together as Sidney and Evgeni does, living in such close quarters, takes compromise and patience.

Evgeni is not a patient guy, normally, but he finds that he is with Sidney. After weeks of cohabitation, they have established a set of well-rehearsed routines, which primarily consists of Evgeni letting Sidney fuss about this thing and that thing to his heart’s content, and generally being amicable about letting Sidney have his way.

Sidney likes being in control, Evgeni has learnt. He likes knowing that everything has its place and functions the way it’s supposed to.

He also likes being taken care of—not that he’ll ever admit it—which is just as well seeing as Evgeni rather enjoys spoiling him; he’s lost count of how many bars of chocolate he’s bought in the last weeks.

It’s a system that works for them.

With just a month into the season, Metallurg is doing well in the standings. Evgeni is somehow second in league points—Sidney is first, of course—and their fourth line is now the second line.

Konstantin and Evgeni are mostly in disbelief about that, but Sidney is grimly satisfied. “We’re doing good work, boys,” he tells them, and then, in Russian, “Keep play good hockey.”

His Russian is vastly improved in the short time he’s been here. Evgeni is kind of impressed with him, but he can’t actually tell Sidney that. People are praising him too much as it is.

 _Wonder kid_ , the newspapers call him. _Extraordinary._

Sidney is pretty levelheaded, but Evgeni considers it his duty to keep him grounded. Just in case. 

They’re winning more than they’re losing, and that has everyone in a good mood. Winning games means they’re attracting more and more fans as well. Some even follow Evgeni from the minor league. They stand by the glass during warmups, holding up posters and handmade signs for him to read.

A few games ago, Sidney asked, “What that one mean?” and the sign he’d been nodding at had a picture of Evgeni and a text that basically amounted to an offer of sucking his cock should he so accept.

“Just means she’s a fan,” Evgeni said, and hoped Sidney would assume the flush on his face was from warmup. He ignored Konstantin’s disbelieving snort.

Everyone seems happy. Maracle has been a godsend, and Coach is more happy angry than angry angry, which everyone is relieved about.

Especially Osipov, who really is ancient and can’t keep up anymore—he doesn’t have to, not with the way Sidney and Evgeni are playing.

He’s even stopped glaring at Evgeni. Mostly. There might even be a grudging level of respect there.

Things have never been better for Evgeni. He’s playing great hockey, his team is winning, he has Sidney next to him every day and every night.

And they still haven’t kissed.

Evgeni thinks this is a bit of a tragedy. He likes kissing. Kinda loves it, actually, and Sidney’s lips are huge and red and so inviting. If Sidney wasn’t already made for hockey, Evgeni might think he was made for kissing.

He’d like to find out.

Broaching the subject is proving harder than he’d anticipated, though. Evgeni doesn’t think Sidney is necessarily averse to the idea of kissing, but it’s not something he appears to believe is missing between them either. Not like Evgeni, who, after nights spent cuddling and four more shared showers— _four!_ —is getting kind of desperate here.

He doesn’t know what they are—boyfriends? Friends who cuddle and sometimes shower together?—he just knows what he wants them to be.

Sidney, on the other hand, seems perfectly content going at their current pace.

Evgeni likes romance as much as the next person, but after weeks of shy, tentative smiles and some light hand holding, he is reaching his breaking point.

He doesn’t ever want to push Sidney into something he is not ready for or doesn’t want, and if all Sidney can give him are warm hugs and gentle touches, Evgeni will learn to live with that.

As long as he has Sidney, he will be happy.

Evgeni will just jerk off more often than usual, and drink in his fill when he gets to see Sidney naked, gets to touch him, chastely, in the shower. It’ll be fine.

But.

But, if there is _any_ chance that Sidney wants him the way Evgeni wants Sidney to want him, he very much would like to find out.

Finally, one night after a home game, Evgeni says, “Sidka, can I kiss you?”, and Sidney says, “Yes.” Easy as anything.

Evgeni is so taken aback he doesn’t move until Sidney pushes at him so that Evgeni falls onto his back and Sidney can settle over his thighs.

“Well?” Sidney asks. He’s staring down at Evgeni expectantly.

Evgeni has been prepared for another night of innocent cuddling, of getting to hold Sidney close but keep his hands above the waistline of Sidney’s briefs.

He is not at all ready for the way Sidney smiles at him invitingly and grinds his ass against Evgeni’s dick.

Evgeni groans. “Come here,” he demands, and then he’s surging up to cup Sidney’s face between his hands.

Sidney’s lips are chapped, his bottom lip is slightly swollen from where he’d taken a high stick their previous game. He kisses as if he is starved for it.

There is nothing chaste about it at all.

“Sidka,” Evgeni breathes out wonderingly. He kisses the corner of Sidney’s mouth, trails his lips down Sidney’s jaw until he finds the underside of his chin and peppers kisses down his neck.

He hears Sidney gasp at a particular spot near the hollow of his throat and grins, sucking a deep mark into the delicate skin there.

“Geno—I, ah.” Sidney clutches one hand around Evgeni’s shoulder. The other settles in his hair, tugging lightly. “Not make mark. Others will see.” He makes no move to push Evgeni away.

“Let them see,” Evgeni says. What does he care if their teammates see the hickey he is leaving behind, if they know he gets to have Sidney like this? It’s not as if any of them will care. Evgeni is pretty sure Konstantin already thinks they’re fucking.

“Geno,” Sidney says, and this time he tugs at Evgeni’s hair hard enough that Evgeni pulls back. He doesn’t get far before Sidney is kissing him again, and that’s Sidney’s tongue pushing into Evgeni’s mouth and this is possibly the best idea Evgeni has ever had.

Second only to a phone call he made two years ago.

Evgeni’s cock is hard and leaking in his sleep pants. He would like to get a hand on it, but Sidney is still grinding his ass down on him, and that’s, yeah, Evgeni is just fine with that. He grips Sidney’s hips instead, helping him press down more firmly.

Sidney makes this breathy little sigh into Evgeni’s mouth, and Evgeni wants to _wreck_ him. He wants to hold Sidney down, wants to rut against him and come with Sidney’s name on his lips. He wants to get Sidney naked, wants to touch him all over, run his fingers over the swell of his ass and push into him, show Sidney how good Evgeni can make him feel. Only him.

He wants, he wants, he wants.

“Geno, I’m, ah, I—” Sidney abandons all pretence of a second language when Evgeni clenches his hands at his hips, fingers digging in hard. He switches to English, says, “I’m gonna come, Geno, I’m gonna, I’m—” and Evgeni made him like that. He robbed Sidney of speech and coherent thought. He did that.

“Yes,” Evgeni says reverently. “Yes, come now. Right now, Sidka. So pretty, look at you, you so good for me, Sidka.”

That’s all Sidney needs. He comes hard at the praise Evgeni lavishes at him, his face flushed and eyes wide and startled.

Evgeni thinks, _Oh_ , because Sidney responded _beautifully_ to that and that’s—

Evgeni definitely needs to explore that some more later, but first he needs to get off, need to come before he bursts from the inside out from how good it feels.

He pushes up to meet Sidney’s ass, let’s go of his grip on Sidney’s hips so he can grab his face instead. He kisses him hard, desperate and messy and slick, and it’s so unbearably good. Evgeni could spend hours doing this.

He nips at Sidney’s bottom lip, at where he is already swollen, and Sidney gasps, because it’s probably just this side of painful and that’s how Evgeni comes, with Sidney holding him tight as they kiss and kiss and kiss.

Sidney collapses against him, and Evgeni falls back against his pillow, pleased and exhausted.

“We should do that again. Definitely.”

Evgeni laughs, half incredulous. “Think maybe you didn’t like kissing. Could do for weeks already if I’m know you like so much.”

Sidney lifts his head to stare at him. “Off course I like kissing. Or, well, I mean. This was kind of my first kiss, sort of, but I was definitely thinking I’d like it. And I did. I was _very_ into it,” he stresses, as if Evgeni hadn’t gotten that part. “I thought _you_ didn’t want to.”

Evgeni groans. He slings an arm over his face. “Killing me, Sidka.” His mind latches onto Sidney admitting that this was his first kiss, that _Evgeni_ was his first kiss, and he feels his dick twitch with interest, but that’s another thing he is going to have to focus on later because first thing’s first.

“You think _I_ not want kiss?” he asks, removing his arm from over his eyes so he can stare at Sidney disbelievingly.

Where would he even have gotten such an idea? Evgeni is stupid for Sidney. Everyone and their mothers know this.

 _Evgeni’s_ mother knows this.

Sidney hums. He folds his arms over Evgeni’s chest and rests his chin on them, smiling at Evgeni. Evgeni is helpless to do anything but smile back. 

“I spoke to Denis,” Sidney admits. “I mean, it was mostly in Russian and I don’t think I got all of it, but he said there’d been a lot of girls. Like, a lot, Geno. I thought maybe you hadn’t been with a guy before and you weren’t sure how to deal with it? And then you never did anything more after that first time we showered together and it seemed best just to let you work things out for yourself.”

Evgeni is going to murder his brother. His parents will forgive him the fratricide under the circumstances, he’s sure.

“Have been with boys before, Sidka,” he says gently. “I think _you_ not want more. You say you virgin, so I’m give you lots of space. Not pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

“I’m a virgin, Geno, not a freaking nun. Of _course_ I want to do all this stuff.” He waves a hand to indicate ‘stuff’. “I want to be close to you.”

Communication, Papa often says, is the cornerstone of all relationships.

Evgeni knows what he means now.

“We most stupid.”

Sidney grins at that. “A little,” he agrees. He leans closer to Evgeni, placing a gentle kiss on his chin. “We should go to bed. We have practice tomorrow.”

“Already in bed,” Evgeni says. “Should kiss more.” He puckers his lips expectantly, and Sidney laughs, delighted, but kisses Evgeni obligingly, which turns into another round of making out. When they pull apart, Sidney is panting against Evgeni’s mouth, and Evgeni is hard again.

They don’t have time to start anything now, though. They really should turn in for the night.

Evgeni grimaces, because before that, they should definitely get cleaned up and change clothes before going to sleep.

“Come on,” he says, herding Sidney out of the bed and stealing kisses all the while. “Need clean up.”

No one likes waking up to crusted jizz, after all.

**

The next morning, just as they are about to leave the house, Sidney puts a hand on his arm and says, “So, we’re, uhm.” He blinks up at Evgeni, eyes huge in his face.

Evgeni wants to kiss him right there on the doorstep for the whole street to see. “What?”

“Are we boyfriends or just friends who—”

“Boyfriends,” Evgeni says firmly, before Sidney can get any other ideas.

_Communication_ , Papa always says, and Evgeni is not about to let there be any misunderstandings about this. Not after their last one.

Sidney beams at him happily. “Boyfriends,” he agrees.

**

Sidney is not the first boyfriend Evgeni has, but he is his first serious relationship. 

It’s been a while since Evgeni has had any new firsts, and he was careless with his own, didn’t recognise the milestones for what they were.

Over the course of the next few weeks, he shares plenty of firsts with Sidney, and these he takes care to appreciate properly. He’s careful with them, gentle, squirrelling away the memory of all the firsts they share between them deep into the corners of his heart, to be treasured and never forgotten.

They have already conquered the milestone that is their first kiss, and they graduate quickly to jerking each other off and exchanging blowjobs—Sidney inexperienced but happily determined and so, so enthusiastic.

Evgeni responds _very_ well to that kind of enthusiasm.

The first time Evgeni fingers him, Sidney all but wails for how good it feels, because, Evgeni is delighted to discover, Sidney is _sensitive._ The first time they go all the way, the first time Evgeni presses into Sidney until he bottoms out, is one of Evgeni’s fondest memories. They fumble with the condom Sidney had pilfered from Konstantin’s bag, go through a few false starts, and Evgeni probably goes a little overboard with the lube, but it feels beyond amazing—and when Sidney starts giggling midway through because the headboard is banging against the wall of their hotel room and it’s such a cliché, Evgeni laughs with him and thinks, _I love you_.

And that is another first, because Evgeni has never been in love before.

But he loves Sidney, is in love with him, fiercely and passionately. Evgeni tries to remember life before him and finds that he can’t, as if the memory of Sidney, the imprint of him, is so strong and so bright that it eats away at the shadows of Evgeni’s mind that contains the bits and pieces of life without Sidney.

There is no before and no after. There is only now. He thinks that should probably terrify him.

It doesn’t.

**

By the time they play Sanja and his Dynamo Moscow in the capital, it’s the middle of December, and Evgeni is no longer second in points.

Sidney, though, is still stubbornly clinging to a one-point lead.

“It’s really quite impressive,” Sanja says after the game. He’s in a good mood, all the more gracious with a win on the night even if he’d been held off the scoreboard.

Evgeni scowls. He’d rather trade his two-point night for the W.

“Plenty of scouts in the stands, too,” Sanja goes on. “More Americans than usual. Oh, forgive me, _North Americans_. You’re causing quite the stir.” He looks at Sidney, and there is something in his gaze, something Evgeni can’t quite read.

It makes him bristle silently. He surreptitiously moves his chair a little closer to Sidney’s.

Sanja smirks at him from across the table, which means Evgeni probably isn’t as subtle as he’d hoped.

Whatever. Sanja can deal.

“Hmm,” is all Sidney says, distracted, because the restaurant Sanja has brought them to serves cheddar sticks—“It’s not quite mozzarella sticks but close enough, and oh my god, these are so, so _good_.”—and Sidney has pretty much declared his undying love for them.

He is basically deep throating the sticks, one after the other, for all the guests to see. It’d be kind of hot if it wasn’t _cheese_.

In the seat next to Sanja’s, Gennady snorts. Their agent looks at Sidney, amused. “You’ll choke,” he predicts cheerfully.

“Will be worth it,” Sidney says around the cheddar stick in his mouth. His Russian is steadily improving by leaps and bounds, but his accent is more pronounced than usual with his mouth full of food.

Evgeni sighs.

“You should swallow before speaking,” he advises. He’s a little worried that Gennady will turn out to be right, and Evgeni might actually die from secondhand embarrassment if Sidney ends up choking on a cheddar stick in an upscale restaurant in Moscow.

Sidney has no shame, Evgeni knows, and absolutely will not care. It was beaten out of him long ago by teenagers with their potent words and jealous rage; he no longer has a working concept of humiliation, because little kids can be beyond cruel, and it was easier not to care. Safer.

Evgeni’s definition of the word, though, is just fine and dandy.

Sidney grins at him and leans over to kiss his cheek obnoxiously, and then kisses the corner of his mouth for good measure. Evgeni grimaces. He brushes away bread crumbs from his cheek.

Across the table, Sanja’s brows shoot up. There is something like genuine shock on his face, and for once, he’s stunned silent.

Gennady is unsurprised. He’s known about their relationship for some weeks now, ever since he accidentally walked in on Evgeni jerking Sidney off during what was really supposed to be their daily allotted hour of studying.

(Gennady no longer shows up unannounced whenever he has business with one of them.)

“Cat got your tongue, Sanja?” Evgeni asks pointedly.

Sanja stares at them. “Are you crazy?” he hisses out. He glances around him to make sure no one is paying them any undue attention. “Fraternisation is grounds for dismissal. They’ll demote you to the B team if they catch you. Have you not read your contracts? Sexual relationships between teammates are strictly prohibited.”

“I read my contract. No sex clause,” Sidney says with a shrug. He leans into Evgeni’s side, unconcerned.

Evgeni rests his arm over the back of Sidney’s chair. He says, “I don’t have one either. Legally, they can’t do shit. Not that they’d do anything if they could. You really think they’d demote us? Sidka leads the entire league in points.”

Sanja opens and closes his mouth. He looks at Gennady for help.

Gennady scratches at his jaw. “There’s nothing management could do to them, Sanja. They’re right. Neither of them have the clause you’re talking about in their contracts.”

“ _How_?”

“They’re both minors,” Gennady explains uncomfortably. “To include a clause forbidding them from having sex with a teammate, management would have to sexualise them in the first place. Technically, they’re both still children. Wouldn’t be a good look for the team _or_ the league.”

Sanja nods slowly and relaxes back against his chair. He looks worried, but less tense than he had a second ago.

Evgeni is a little surprised. He and Sanja are friends and have been for a long time, but their friendship has always been weirdly antagonistic. More competitive than anything. He appreciates that Sanja would look out for him like this.

“Hey. I promise, okay? Sidka and I are good. There’s no way they can touch us about this.”

They haven’t been particularly worried about it, but Evgeni and Sidney had still made sure, confiding first in Gennady after he found out about them, and then Barry and Brisson at Gennady’s urging.

Their agents had been less than impressed by their relationship, and then grimly determined when Evgeni and Sidney made it clear that they wouldn’t be breaking up any time soon.

“Okay,” Sanja says grudgingly. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Evgeni says, and grins as Sidney hides a smile against Evgeni’s shoulder when Sanja rolls his eyes and Gennady looks heavenwards.

“Save me from the stupidity of teenagers,” Gennady says.

Sanja loses some of his unusual severity at that. He laughs. “Then how would you make all your money? There’d be no need for agents if we had our shit together.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gennady says. “There’s always a need for an agent.” He winks at Sidney and Evgeni.

“Anyway,” Sanja says. “The national team call you yet? You’re going right? Both of you?”

“To Helsinki? Yes,” Evgeni answers for them both when Sanja nods. The annual WJC is only a few weeks away, and while both Sidney and Evgeni have been expecting their respective countries to call on them, it’s still nice knowing they’re definitely going.

Evgeni looks at Sidney with a grin. “They called me first.” And it doesn’t matter who got the call first, not when the important thing is that they’re both going, but Evgeni preens anyway.

Sidney elbows him in the side. “Asshole,” he says. “Canada six hours behind. Had to wake up to make call.”

Evgeni leans down to steal a kiss, smug. “If you say so,” he whispers against Sidney’s lips.

“Oh my _god_.”

Evgeni startles. He looks up from Sidney to find Sanja staring at them, wide-eyed and amused.

Sanja laughs. “Are you always like this?” He turns to Gennady. “Are they always like this? So cute,” he coos out when Gennady murmurs his agreement and shakes his head at them all.

Evgeni shrugs. When he looks back at Sidney, he’s already staring up at him. “Hi,” Sidney whispers. He’s smiling at Evgeni softly.

“Hi,” Evgeni whispers back. He hugs Sidney a little tighter to his side, bending to press his lips against the crown of Sidney’s head.

They lost a game earlier and that will never not sting, but here, with Sidney, it doesn’t feel too bad.

It’s a good night.

**

Their last game before they leave for Helsinki is a win at home. 

Velichkin is pleased. He finds them in the locker room after, placing a heavy hand on Evgeni’s shoulder as he surveys the three of them: Sidney, leaning tiredly against Konstantin with an ice pack over his left eye, and Evgeni, hovering nearby anxiously, feeling the sting of his knuckles and the rage in his veins. His mind is stuck on a loop of _how dare he, how dare he, how—_

“How is your eye, Crosby? That was a nasty stick you took there.”

_Nasty,_ is right. So is, _Deliberate_.

Evgeni can hardly breathe for how furious he is.

“Is okay,” Sidney tells Velichkin carefully. “Hurt only little bit. Geno get him back.” 

Velichkin tightens his grip on Evgeni’s shoulder, his fingers digging into his skin, hard. “Yes,” he says. “Quite a fight, Zhenya. You’re first, I believe. How are your fingers? Nothing broken, I hope?”

Evgeni grits his teeth. “No,” he answers curtly, because he keeps playing the scene over and over in his mind; Sidney battling for the puck along the boards, and Krakov, his stick going up with deliberate force.

If Sidney hadn’t been wearing a visor, he’d have lost the eye.

Evgeni had only managed a couple of wild punches before the refs were giving him a ten-minute misconduct and Krakov was sent off the ice with a match penalty.

Sidney reaches out to tug at Evgeni’s hand, pulling until Velichkin is forced to let go of his shoulder so Evgeni can sit down next to Sidney.

Velichkin’s lips thin. “Good, good,” he says with forced cheer. “We wouldn’t want you out with injury. You’re playing so well, all three of you. Good luck at Worlds. Bring home the gold, yes?”

Evgeni murmurs an agreement, while Konstantin nods carefully, and Sidney says, politely, “Thank you.”

Velichkin smiles in satisfaction and abandons them in favour of Osipov and Couch Boucher.

“What that about?” Sidney asks, looking after their GM curiously.

“What _was_ ,” Evgeni corrects absentmindedly. He stares at Velichkin with narrowed eyes. _That_ was politics, though Evgeni has little time and patience to engage in it. He got the message clear enough though.

They expect him not to get into another fight, even if he was protecting a teammate. Protecting _Sidney_. They expect him to be playing.

Evgeni has proven his worth a hundred times over in the last three months, but he also knows he’s only worth their time as long as he is producing.

Evgeni is more than just productive. He is _good_ , his hockey is _good_. It always has been. The difference is that now everybody else can see it too.

He’s also Russian, a homegrown product, even.

Sidney leads the league in points, but he’s going back to Canada at the end of the season, and no one can keep that from happening.

They want to keep Evgeni from following him.

It was subtle at first. A comment here and a promise there—“You’re playing so well, Zhenya, you’re exceeding our expectations by far. Next season, we’ll get you an A, yes?”

In the last month or so, ever since Evgeni was called up to the national team, Velichkin has started seeking him out, always careful to make sure Sidney is busy elsewhere. No easy feat, Evgeni can admit.

_“How are you doing, Zhenya?”_

_“Do you need anything, Zhenya?”_

_“How are your parents, Zhenya? We have extra tickets for the box suite; would they like them?”_

It wouldn’t be so bad, perhaps, if it didn’t seem so carefully calculated, if all the conversations weren’t so forced. There is a glint in his eyes that Velichkin can’t hide no matter how hard he tries to play at cool. It makes Evgeni pull away in the opposite direction, closer towards Sidney.

 _They know_ , he realises one day, after another pointed conversation with Velichkin, packed with double meanings and pretty promises. They know what Sidney and Evgeni are to each other.

And they, like Evgeni, are realising that Sidney’s time in Russia is quickly coming to an end.

The playoffs will be over in mid-April. Four months left. That is nothing.

Evgeni is expected to stay behind, even if he is NHL draft eligible next year. Not everyone makes the jump across the Atlantic right away. It wouldn’t be unusual for Evgeni to tell his draft team to wait a year, to give Metallurg one more season.

But.

He thinks about being away from Sidney for an entire year, of being limited to emails and the occasional phone call. Just the thought of it has Evgeni feeling the loss of him so keenly it’s a raw, physical ache in the pit of his stomach.

Going two years without seeing each other was one thing when they had never met in person; going a year without each other now would be nearly insurmountable—not when Evgeni knows the taste of Sidney’s lips on his and the feel of his hand in Evgeni’s hair. Not when he knows the sound of Sidney’s laugh and the mesmerising hazel of his eyes in full, glorious technicolour.

A whole year. Evgeni is not sure he can do it. Nor is the Metallurg management.

It took a while before he caught on, but even Osipov’s marked improved treatment of him is a trickle down effect. Evgeni is quickly becoming a big deal, and management is desperate to keep him happy.

To keep him in Magnitogorsk.

“Geno? Something wrong?”

Evgeni is startled out of his thoughts by the sound of Sidney’s voice. He looks over at him, managing to drudge up a hint of a smile at the worry on Sidney’s face.

“Nothing. It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says. “Are you ready to go?”

Evgeni doesn’t know yet if he’ll stay or follow Sidney to Canada—if Sidney would even want him to.

The one thing he does know, is that whatever he decides to do, it will be _his_ decision, and his alone.

**

Sidney and Evgeni go out to dinner after the game, just the two of them. 

It’s December 24, and Christmas isn’t really that big a deal for Russians, but it’s Sidney’s favourite holiday and Evgeni wants it to be a good one.

“We eat dinner on Christmas Eve,” Sidney explains, “but Christmas Day is biggest day for us. We open presents, be with family.” He smiles wistfully at Evgeni.

Evgeni knows Sidney misses his family, and he is constantly doing his best to ease the longing Sidney feels for them. Dinner won’t fix it, but maybe it will help a little.

Evgeni has even brought along a Christmas present for him, and ideally, he’d give Sidney the present on the 25th, but they’ll be travelling all day tomorrow; no time for presents then.

“We celebrate Christmas on January 7 here, and even then, New Year’s Eve is the big holiday. That’s when everyone gets presents.”

Sidney cocks his head to the side. He looks fascinated. “Really?” he asks. “Do you still get present on Russian Christmas?”

“Yes.” Evgeni nods. “But New Year’s is really the important holiday.” He stretches out his legs and nudges into Sidney’s deliberately. He smirks when Sidney glances up at him with his brows lifted and a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth.

Konstantin keeps complaining about stray feet when they’re out with the team, because as the night wears on, Evgeni and Sidney will inevitably end up playing footsie under the table.

Evgeni doesn’t particularly care about the way their teammates teasingly grumble at them. A game of footsie inevitably leads to something else once Evgeni and Sidney are on their own again.

Evgeni is _very_ encouraging about that something else. “I have something for you. A Christmas present.”

“What? Geno, no,” Sidney protests. He narrows his eyes at Evgeni. “We say no presents. You promise.”

Evgeni had promised, because Sidney had been stressing out about trying to figure out what he should get Denis and Evgeni’s parents and Konstantin and Evgeni himself, and generally working himself into an anxiety attack.

Finally, Evgeni took mercy on him and told him to postpone his worrying until after Worlds; no one would care if Sidney didn’t have a gift for them on December 25.

“I lied,” Evgeni says unapologetically, and really, Sidney should have known better, he thinks. He reaches for Sidney’s hand when he opens his mouth to protest again, and threads their fingers together. “Don’t be mad,” Evgeni says and sticks out his bottom lip into an exaggerated pout.

Sidney’s jaw ticks with suppressed laughter, and Evgeni can see the smile in his eyes and the laugh lines that crinkle with happiness.

Evgeni grins smugly. “Here,” he says. He reaches his free hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope.

Sidney accepts it with a curious look. “What is it?”

“Open it,” Evgeni urges. He can’t wait to see how Sidney will react. He’s not disappointed when Sidney breathes in sharply through his nose and clutches at his gift in surprise.

“Geno,” he says hoarsely. “You—can’t believe you do. This too much.”

About a month ago, Evgeni signed a contract with a Russian shoe manufacturer. The payout was significant; Barry and Gennady had been very pleased.

The first thing Evgeni had done was buy a much needed new car for his parents. The other, was to purchase three plane tickets from Halifax to Magnitogorsk.

“I talked to your dad,” Evgeni reveals. “They’ll be able to come for a week in February, during Taylor’s winter break. Gennady said they could stay in his apartment. Won’t cost them anything.”

Sidney’s eyes are shining wetly when he looks back up at Evgeni. “We go now,” he says. “Right now.”

Evgeni blinks at him, watching as Sidney signals their waiter as he gets up from his chair. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” Sidney says firmly, and when their eyes meet again, his are dark and hungry. “I give _you_ present now.”

Evgeni scrambles to his feet eagerly.

**

Before they leave the next morning, Mama knocks on the bedroom door while Sidney is still in the shower. She’s holding a box of condoms in her hand.

Evgeni’s eyes go wide.

“Here,” she says. “Remember to be safe. I’d tell you to focus on the tournament and playing hockey, but I remember what being a teenager was like.”

“ _Mama_!”

Evgeni is mortified. He can feel his face burning a furious red. 

“Oh, relax, Zhenya. It’s not like we don’t realise what the two of you get up to in here. Your bed creaks. And as long as you’re being sexually active, I’d rather you be safe and smart about it.”

“ _What_?” Evgeni croaks out. The bed _creaks_?

His eyes are round, and it’s not as if his parents don’t know about his relationship with Sidney—“Attached at the hip, they are,” Papa chuckles when he sees them—but Evgeni has been blissfully unaware of the fact that they know just exactly how intimate Sidney and Evgeni are with each other.

Mama presses the box into his hands and pats him on the cheek kindly. “Use protection,” she says, and then she’s walking out of the room.

Evgeni stares after her, distinctly wishing the ground would swallow him up whole. He turns to stare at the bed, which apparently creaks.

Well, fuck.

**

He packs the condoms. 

**

Since they’re all going to the same place anyway, Sidney hitches a ride with Team Russia to Helsinki.

“It’s not that I don’t love you, Sidka—our love is deep and pure,” Sanja says when they meet up with the others at the airport in Moscow. “But it’s just not right that you’re here. What’s that saying again? A Canadian in Russian clothing?”

Evgeni snorts and rolls his eyes at Sanja’s theatrics, but Konstantin grins. He throws an arm over Sidney’s shoulders and tugs him close.

“Bah!” he says. “Sidka is practically Russian now anyway. Are you sure we can’t smuggle him onto the team, Coach? Zhenya and I will be sad without our liney.”

“Because no one give you puck now,” Sidney chirps him. “No points for you.”

There’s a second of surprised silence, and then the guys burst out laughing and Coach Sýkora says, “Maybe we’ll keep you after all, Crosya. Those pesky Canadians can just do without.”

Sidney grins, and not for the first time, Evgeni finds himself silently thanking whichever entity had deigned to recruit Coach for Team Russia, even if Coach is Czech—he keeps grumbling about having been pulled away from his duties in Magnitogorsk, but Evgeni knows he’s honoured by the Russian Federation’s trust in him, especially as a Czech expat.

Evgeni makes sure to have a few words with his teammates, to get reacquainted since he last saw them and introduce himself to those he hasn't met before. He never drifts far from Sidney, though, barely comfortable with leaving him in the questionable care of Sanja and Konstantin.

Sidney seems perfectly fine. He is not at all put out by being a lone Canadian among a group full of boisterous Russians.

Evgeni is the one who’s antsy. He keeps moving his knee up and down impatiently when they’ve boarded the plane; he’s complaining about the seats being too small even before they take off.

Sidney looks at him for a long moment. “Want my place?” he offers, one hand coming to rest on Evgeni’s bouncing knee.

Evgeni nods gratefully. The aisle seat will at least allow him to stretch out his legs more comfortably.

They get up to switch seats, and when they’re settled, Evgeni draws Sidney in for a kiss. “Thank you,” he says, uncaring of the way some of the guys glance at them curiously, of the way Coach sends a disapproving frown their way.

Sidney nods. He reaches out to take Evgeni’s hand in his, and Evgeni almost sighs in relief, feeling some of his anxiety ease as he laces their fingers together and holds on tight.

In his seat by the window, Konstantin ignores them expertly.

The flight from Moscow to Helsinki is not even a full two hours, and Evgeni finds himself wishing it was longer, wanting to drag out time as much as possible.

He’s excited for the tournament, is excited to play with Sanja again and to have Konstantin as his linemate—and everyone knows Konstantin got his spot on the team because he is magic on Evgeni’s line, but he’s _good_ , and Russia is _good_.

Evgeni thinks they’re good enough to win the gold they lost in Břeclav. He’s excited about it, excited for the chance to right a wrong.

He’s not excited about being separated from Sidney.

It’s been four months since Sidney came to Russia. Four months since Evgeni last slept alone. 

In all that time, Evgeni has never gone more than a few hours without seeing Sidney throughout the day. Usually when they’re out of town and Sidney doesn’t feel like going clubbing after a game—too young for even the bouncers to be bribed sometimes. He’ll see Evgeni out the door with a smile and a kiss and a promise of, “I’ll miss you,” and, “I’ll wait up for you,” because they are exactly like that sappy couple people love to hate.

Too codependent by far.

Or that’s what Konstantin tells them anyway.

Evgeni knows that it’s maybe not that healthy for the two of them to spend so much time together, he knows that people think it’s weird that they haven’t tired of each other yet. A break will probably do them both good.

Except...

Except Evgeni doesn’t want a break. He _likes_ having Sidney within touching distance. Likes that they do almost everything together.

Evgeni sighs tiredly. Codependency is not a strong enough word for how much he needs Sidney next to him.

“Hey, you okay? Face so serious.”

Evgeni turns to look at Sidney. He stares at him intently, drinking in the sight of him greedily. Sidney never complains about Evgeni’s intensity towards him. He always lets Evgeni look his fill.

And Evgeni looks often.

Sidney’s eyes are clouded with worry for him now, and his generous mouth is parted lightly. He’s lost some of his baby fat since coming to Russia. Evgeni can see the outline of his cheekbones, sharper than he’s ever seen them before.

He’s absolutely lovely.

“I’m going to miss you,” Evgeni says. He leans close, resting his forehead against Sidney’s. He takes deep, gulping breaths, trying to breathe in the scent of him—trying not to look as if he’s coming apart at the seams as badly as he feels.

“I’m right here, Geno,” Sidney says in English. “Right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He slows his breathing to match Evgeni’s steady pace, until Evgeni is breathing in on Sidney’s exhales and vice versa.

Sidney is here, now, with Evgeni, but he won’t be in Helsinki. He won’t be when he’s back in Canada.

Evgeni says nothing.

They breathe together. 

**

Once they get off the plane and make it through immigration, Evgeni spends a full ten minutes in baggage claim clinging to Sidney’s waist before Coach attempts to drag him away.

“For fuck’s sake, Malkin,” Coach says. “It’s not like you won’t ever see him again. Let the boy go; you’re making a spectacle of yourself.”

Evgeni very narrowly avoids telling his coach to fuck off.

Sidney sighs. He rubs his hands up and down Evgeni’s back and places a kiss on the skin beneath the open collar of his shirt. “We see each other later, Geno. Will be fine, okay?”

Evgeni nods, but he doesn’t let Sidney go. He pulls him in a little tighter and buries his face in Sidney’s dark curls. He noses against his hair, trying not to wonder when he’ll get the chance to hold Sidney like this again.

A couple of hours or even a few days doesn’t seem that long in theory; it’s an age for Evgeni. “When does your team get here?”

“They land in three hours. I wait here. Is fine.” 

Evgeni frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving Sidney alone for the next few hours. “That’s stupid. Just come with us.” He looks back at Coach. “Can’t he come with us? Extend a branch of international diplomacy or whatever.”

Somewhere behind him, Sanja makes a noise of amusement. “I’m genuinely impressed you even know what that means, Zhenya. Also, you’ve done plenty of...diplomacing, already,” he says, wiggling his brows obnoxiously—as if there is any doubt at all as to what he means by _diplomacing_. It’s not even a word.

Evgeni flips him his middle finger.

“Geno,” Sidney says. He forces Evgeni to meet his eyes, and then stands on his toes to give him a long, hard kiss. He breathes against Evgeni’s lips when they pull apart. “Will take me hour just to go to Hämeenlinna with you and then another hour back. Is not worth long trip.”

Around them, Evgeni’s teammates are already picking up their bags from the conveyor belt and making their way out of the airport.

“Malkin,” Coach barks at him, impatient. He’s checking his watch pointedly.

Evgeni sets his jaw, stubborn enough to gear himself up for a fight, but Sidney is shaking his head.

“Go,” he says. “Be with team. Is important you be friends; good teammates. Me too. We play for country now, but still boyfriends.”

Evgeni glares at him. “Of _course_ we’re still boyfriends. Why wouldn’t we be? Christ, Sidka.

As if Evgeni is about to let a little thing like a tournament and national pride get in the way of how he feels about Sidney.

Sidney huffs out a breath, exasperated. “I just mean is okay to be rivals and still be _us_.” He reaches out, stroking a gentle hand through Evgeni’s hair. “I want Canada win gold, but want you do good too. Is hard,” he says, and makes a face.

Evgeni feels the wind go out of him. He has to get a move on—Coach is already threatening with bag skate if he doesn’t get his ass moving, _now—_ but it’s hard to leave Sidney behind.

He hates that their teams have been divided into different groups. He hates that he will be in Hämeenlinna while Sidney remains in Helsinki. They won’t see each other until the elimination games, and only if both of their teams make it out of the round robin.

“You have your phone?” Evgeni demands, and when Sidney lifts his hand to show his Nokia 3310, Evgeni nods grimly and kisses him one last time. “Text me,” he says. “And call.”

Sidney smiles. “See you when I see you?” he asks, in English, and Evgeni manages to dredge up a smiles too then, because he remembers what comes next: “See you when I see you.”

**

No one tries to sit next to him on the bus, for which Evgeni is grateful, but once they reach their hotel, Coach presses a key card into Sanja’s hand and says, “Malkin, Ovechkin, you’re in room 301.”

Evgeni sighs. He knows there was zero chance of him getting a room for himself, but he’s still bitter.

“Zhenya, for fuck’s sake. Stop moping,” Sanja says once they’ve reached their room.

Konstantin, who’s tagged along with them, throws himself onto Sanja’s bed. “Just leave him be. He’ll calm down once Sidka calls him.”

Sanja huffs out a sigh, but mercifully lets it drop.

Evgeni scowls anyway. He’s in a foul temper. His skin feels itchy and raw. He misses Sidney already.

“Why are we even playing in stupid Hämeenlinna? What kind of name is that? Why do they always have to place Canada and Russia into different groups? Fucking USA.”

Of course the _Americans_ are in Hämeenlinna.

“Because everyone wants a Russian-Canadian final and it’s harder to make that happen if one team beats out the other in the round robin.”

Evgeni hates it when Sanja is right. He’s one of the most ridiculous people he knows; he has no business being reasonable when all Evgeni wants to do is sulk in peace.

“Whatever,” Evgeni says. “I’m gonna go call Sidka.”

“Please,” Konstantin says. “If nothing else, it’ll put you in a better mood.” 

Evgeni glares at him. “Why are you even here? You have your own room. Go bother someone else.” He knows he’s being more than a little grouchy, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Sanja snickers as Konstantin rolls his eyes and gets up from where he’s been lounging next to Sanja. “Fine. Find me when you’ve stopped being an ass. We’ll talk then.” He walks out of the room and very pointedly does not slam the door.

“Fuck,” Evgeni mumbles under his breath. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

From his place on the bed, Sanja lifts his brows at him. “It’s not like he doesn’t know you’re a jerk.”

Which is true enough, but Evgeni still knows better than to take his bad mood out on others. His mother taught him better than that.

Evgeni is an emotional guy. He’s always known this about himself. His highs are high and his lows are low. He’s been more even-keeled lately, with Sidney around to soothe his quick temper. That’s the person Konstantin is used to. Sidney’s Geno.

It’s strange to think how much has changed in so little time.

Evgeni and Konstantin didn’t really know each other before Sidney. They only interacted a handful of times in the early days of training camp, and even then it was never anything significant. Sanja, though, has always known what kind of asshole Evgeni can be when he gets into one of his moods.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

Sanja hums. He eyes Evgeni for a moment. “Weren’t you going to call Sidka?” 

He was, but Evgeni doesn’t think it would help hearing Sidney’s voice right now. Not when the absence of him is the problem in the first place.

Evgeni knows he’s projecting. He knows that he is conflating their current separation into his fear of what life will be like after this season, with Sidney back in Canada and Evgeni an entire ocean apart from him.

The tournament feels like a prequel to an inevitable reality; Sidney is going back to Canada. He is leaving Evgeni’s home to go back to his own.

More and more, Evgeni has started to think that home is not a where but a who. He thinks, _I go where Sidney goes._

Wherever that may be, that’s where Evgeni belongs.

“Zhenya?” 

Evgeni looks at Sanja. He wonders, for a moment, what Sanja would do in his situation. He thinks Sanja would stay. Sanja would put hockey before anything— _anyone—_ and Evgeni would too, before.

Not anymore.

“I’ll call him later,” Evgeni says finally, and before Sanja can say something else, he steps into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

**

Russia comes away from their first game with a 2-2 tie against Slovakia; they beat the Swedes 5-3 and then Austria 3-1.

They suffer their first loss of the tournament against the Americans. 4-1. Fucking Team USA.

It stings. 

The memory of the gold medal game is five months removed, and is not as strong as it probably should be, but Evgeni is disappointed all the same. He will enter the quarterfinals with four points in four games—by no means anything to scoff at, but he hasn’t been anywhere near the player he’s been for Metallurg this season.

He can be better. He _will_ be better.

At least the end of the round robin means the team is going back to Helsinki. Finally. 

It’s December 31, and if his teammates hadn’t convinced Coach to make the drive back to Helsinki right after the game, Evgeni would have ordered a cab.

They don’t play again for another two days, and he plans to spend New Year’s Eve with Sidney.

The game against the Americans ended late, and the bus arrives in Helsinki even later. Evgeni has spent five days texting and calling Sidney. He’s spent five days sleeping without him.

That’s longer than he ever wants to be apart from Sidney ever again.

He’s got his phone to his ear when they step off the bus, listening to the dialling tone impatiently as he waits for Sidney to answer the call.

It goes straight to voicemail, but it doesn’t matter; outside on the sidewalk across from where the bus is parked, right next to the hotel entrance, is Sidney.

“Sidka,” Evgeni breathes out hoarsely.

Sidney is dressed in a thin pair of sweats and a Canada t-shirt. He is bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking up and down the street, eyes searching. When he lays eyes on Evgeni, he freezes. It’s just for a second, one single second of suspended time before Sidney lurches into motion and runs across the street. He goes barrelling into Evgeni with full force.

Evgeni rocks back on his heels, just barely keeping them upright as Sidney throws his arms around his neck and wraps his legs around Evgeni’s waist. Sidney is shorter than him but packs more muscle. His body is all defined lines and economy of motion compared to Evgeni’s gangly limbs. He shouldn’t be as light as he feels in Evgeni’s arms right now.

Evgeni clutches at him fiercely.

“Sidka, my Sidka,” he says, repeating the words over and over. “I missed you so much, sweetheart. Let’s never do that again.”

Sidney makes a strangled noise and nods into his neck.

“Hey, where’s my sugar? Why is Zhenya getting all the love?”

Evgeni grunts in annoyance when Sanja’s face is suddenly right next to theirs. He’s puckering his lips expectantly, and laughs heartily when Sidney lifts his head from Evgeni’s neck and says, “Go away, Sanja. No sugar for you. Just Geno.”

Konstantin walks up to drag Sanja away. He stops to ruffle Sidney’s hair, giving them a shit-eating grin when Evgeni glares at him and takes a shaky step away from his teammates; Sidney is still clinging to him, refusing to let his legs go from their place around Evgeni’s sides.

“For fuck’s sake,” Coach says wearily. “Get a move on boys, you’re holding up the rest of us. Christ. Fucking teenagers.” He glares at Sidney. “And get back inside, Crosya. It’s winter. Do you not see the snow? At least put on a jacket before you go around accosting my players.”

Evgeni thinks that might be a good idea, actually. Sidney’s arms are bare, and he’s shivering where he’s wrapped around Evgeni.

“Where’s your jacket, Sidka? It’s too cold out here to be just in a t-shirt.” He doesn’t want to let Sidney out of his arms, but Sidney’s cheeks are redder than his normal lovely flush, and his teeth are chattering despite the way he tries to hide it.

Evgeni sees right through him. He’s so stubborn, his Sidka.

“Someone say they see bus outside of hotel. I just grab hotel key and shoes. Run out to meet you here.”

Evgeni feels warm inside. He kisses Sidney’s cheek loudly. “Best,” he says.

Coach, who is never as angry as he tries to appear, threatens them all inside with another round of hellish bag skate if they don’t get a move on.

Evgeni knows that’s no empty threat, though, so he urges Sidney’s feet back to the ground, but doesn’t let him go far. He reaches for his hand as soon as Sidney’s arms slip from around his neck.

Sanja, only ever useful when it suits him, is kind enough to grab Evgeni’s gear from the luggage hold. “Go,” he says. “We’re rooming again, I think. Just text me when you’re ready.”

Evgeni nods at him gratefully before letting Sidney drag him across the street towards the hotel. It’s pure serendipity that their teams are lodging at the same hotel; Team Ukraine, beaten out of the tournament the day before, checked out of the hotel a day early and has already left Finland.

Team Russia is conveniently there to take over the rooms.

Sidney’s room is empty when they get there.

“Where is your roommate?” Evgeni asks. He looks around curiously, taking in the airing gear bags and the clothes strewn over the floor next to one of the beds; there is a second set of clothes folded on top of a chair next to another bed. It is made up neatly, the covers folded into crisp lines in the corners.

Evgeni knows, even without asking, that this bed is Sidney’s.

“Burnsie,” Sidney says. He smiles at Evgeni, tugging at his hand and guiding him towards the made up bed on the left side of the room. “He’s at the party Getzy is hosting with Talbo,” he says in English. “They’re a couple of rooms down. I think they were saying they were going to try to get into a club somewhere around here. One of the Finns knows the bouncer or something like that.”

Evgeni hums. He lets Sidney push him down onto the bed and sits up against the mountain of pillows resting against the wall. He smiles when Sidney settles himself across his lap and loops his arms around Evgeni’s neck.

Evgeni’s hands drift to Sidney’s hips automatically. He works his thumbs under the hem of Sidney’s thin shirt. He strokes the soft skin underneath, smiling, pleased, when Sidney breathes in sharply.

“Did you miss me,” Evgeni asks.

Sidney nods. He settles a little more firmly in Evgeni’s lap.

Evgeni feels his cock take interest.

“Missed you most,” Sidney says in his accented Russian, and the easy admission warms Evgeni down to very marrow of him.

He is suddenly breathing easier than he has these past five days. It’s as if there’s been a vice around his lungs and he hasn’t even noticed; now, finally, with Sidney here in his arms, his lungs can expand the way they’re meant to. _In and out. In and out_.

“I missed you too. More than I thought I would,” Evgeni says, and Sidney’s eyes go molten and soft.

“Geno,” he says.

Evgeni tightens his grip on Sidney’s hips, and when Sidney leans close enough to kiss, he can barely hold himself back from devouring him whole.

Sidney’s t-shirt comes off hurriedly, and Evgeni pushes Sidney off his lap just long enough to pop the button of his slacks and pull down the zipper.

They don’t speak in much more than moans and grunts for a while.

After, Evgeni lies on his back, exhausted.

Sidney is lying on his side. He has his head propped up on one hand and is staring at Evgeni smugly.

“Gah,” Evgeni says.

Sidney laughs delightedly. “You okay, babe? Too much for you? Need rest?”

Evgeni growls. He rolls over Sidney, hiding a smile against the skin of his collarbone when Sidney laughs loudly, carefree and happy. “Too much for _you_ ,” Evgeni says nonsensically. His fingers find their way to the mess between Sidney’s thighs. He dips lower, and prods gently at Sidney’s hole. “Does it feel okay? I wasn’t too rough with you?”

Sidney smiles at him and shakes his head. “Was perfect,” he says sweetly. “Best.”

“It’s always perfect between us,” Evgeni concurs. It has been from the very beginning, since before they were a couple, since before they even met.

Things were easy even when they’d never laid eyes on each other in person and had no common language between them.

It had worked then, with emails and phone calls and the vastness of the Atlantic separating them. It had worked because Evgeni had wanted and dreamed and he needed it to work.

He doesn’t think it would work again. Evgeni has already lived out parts of his dream with Sidney. It has been everything he hoped and more.

He doesn’t see how he can possibly go back to wanting Sidney, to dreaming of him, and not having him. Not now when he is so very intimately familiar with what he’ll be missing without him.

“Geno,” Sidney says. He’s frowning up at Evgeni. His beautiful hazel eyes are clouded with worry and confusion. “Face so serious again. What wrong? Tell me, please. Maybe I help.”

Evgeni is still wearing a condom, and he should be getting up to dispose of that or at least tie it off and toss it in the bin. He’s pretty sure Sidney is lying in a wet spot and knows that Sidney’s thighs are a mess of lube and his own come. Evgeni should get up for a wash cloth, should be taking care of Sidney and spoiling him silly with kisses and cuddles and the chocolate he’d bought in Hämeenlinna, because Sidney loves all of those things—he never asks for it, though. He so rarely asks for anything when it has nothing to do with hockey, because somewhere along the way, Sidney has decided he shouldn’t be selfish.

Someone has made him believe that he shouldn’t ever be asking for more than what he thinks people are willing to give.

Evgeni would like to punch that someone in the face.

Because Sidney should never want for anything. Evgeni wants to give him everything and more, and he loves that Sidney lets him. Loves Sidney.

He says, “What if I go with you? To Canada? After the season,” Evgeni clarifies at Sidney’s startled look. “What if I went with you?”

Evgeni has been fostering those words inside of him for weeks. He’s been keeping them back from clawing their way out his throat because he knows, he _knows_ , that the right thing for him to do is to stay behind. To be a good son, a good player, a good Russian.

He is. He is all of those things, and still he wants Sidney. More than anything else.

Evgeni doesn’t think that makes him a bad person. He doesn’t think that means he’ll be betraying his country and his family the way Velichkin has so carefully been alluding to in between small talks and conversation after pointed conversation.

He doesn’t think he’s wrong to want to go with Sidney, to want to be with him—and still, the words feel dark and ugly. Like a secret he can’t take back.

“You want come with me?” Sidney chokes out. He reaches for Evgeni desperately, pulling Evgeni’s face towards his own so he can kiss him hungrily, swallowing Evgeni’s moans as if he is feeding off of them. “Yes,” he’s saying. He peppers kisses up along Evgeni’s cheek, and finds his temple, nosing against it. His fingers are stroking through Evgeni’s hair.

“Sidka—”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sidney says, and he’s slipping back into English, words coming out in a rushed. Jumbled mess. Evgeni can barely keep up with him. “You weren’t here, and I couldn’t sleep. I’m so used to—ever since—” Sidney breaks off abruptly. He kisses Evgeni again, and Evgeni never wants it to stop, he never wants to let go.

Sidney wants him to go with him.

“You weren’t here to hold me,” Sidney says, “and I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t here with me, and I needed you.”

Evgeni chokes back a strangled, pained noise. He is pretty sure he’s never leaving Sidney again.

“Sidka,” he tries again, and then feels the air drain right out of his lungs when Sidney says, “I love you, Geno. I love you so much.”

“Sidka.” They have never told each other that before. Evgeni has thought it a thousand times but he’s never said the words aloud.

Sidney keeps talking. “I’ve never loved anyone before, not like this, not like I love you.”

“Me too, Sidka. I’m love you so much. Love you most, I—”

“Do you want to get married?” 

There’s a shocked silence between them for one long heart-stopping moment.

Evgeni is so hard he is legitimately concerned he’ll fill up the condom one more time. Which, gross. He needs to get that thing off.

“You want to marry me?” he demands. He’s switched back to Russian, because he can’t mess this up. There can’t be any misunderstandings about this.

Evgeni is seventeen. Sidney is sixteen.

He knows they’re young, knows people don’t get married when they’re only teenagers. He also knows Sidney is it for him. He would marry Sidney in the next minute if only they could find someone to officiate.

“Yes,” he says. He kisses Sidney fiercely.

Sidney laughs breathlessly against him. “Yes? Yes! You marry me? We get marry?” 

“Get marr _ied_ ,” Evgeni corrects, and then kisses Sidney one more time. And again, and again. “You’re going to be my husband.”

“I be best husband.”

“Lies,” Evgeni says. He leans in close and rests his forehead against Sidney’s. “I’ll be the best husband. You’ll see. I promise.”

Sidney stares up at him, and when he smiles, it’s that small one, the one that Evgeni has begun to understand is his and his alone. He is the best thing Evgeni has ever seen.

Sidney lifts his head a little, until he can rub his nose against Evgeni’s. It’s a gentle, almost unbearably intimate gesture. “I promise too,” he says, and Evgeni is afraid his heart might beat right out of his chest from how much love he feels for Sidney right now.

Evgeni beams at him. “I’m going to treat you so good, Sidka. I love you so much. Love you more than I have words to describe.”

“Show me,” Sidney says simply, “show how much,” and that’s all the incentive Evgeni needs to finally get out of bed to discard his condom and root through his slacks for another.

They end up having to call housekeeping for new sheets.

**

Sidney’s roommate returns to the room in the early hours of the morning. He is still drunk.

“Happy New Year, motherfuckers! Holy shit, it stinks in here! How much did you guys bone? Jesus, Croz.”

Which is how they find out it’s officially January 1. It’s the best New Year’s Eve Evgeni has ever spent.

Brent—“Call me Burnsie, man”—crashes onto his bed and starts snoring the second his head hits the pillow, but Sidney and Evgeni lie awake on Sidney’s side of the room, whispering secrets to each other long into the night.

“Natalia give _condoms_?” Sidney asks at one point, incredulous.

“The bed creaks, apparently. We can never have sex at home again.”

They talk for hours, and when they fall asleep, it’s with Sidney’s knees tucked up against the back of Evgeni’s, and his arm thrown over Evgeni’s waist.

They wake to the sounds of Burnsie puking over the side of his bed.

“Fucking hell,” Evgeni groans out, and Sidney sighs against the back of Evgeni’s neck. 

“Gross,” he agrees, but he gets up from bed and pads into the bathroom. He returns with a wet towel and a glass of water for Burnsie.

It’s more than Evgeni would have done for any of his teammates.

“Thanks, man,” Burnsie says when they’ve ordered room service for him and Sidney has cleaned up his sick.

Evgeni shrugs. “Greasy food good cure for hangover,” he says. He has experience.

Burnsie nods. “So you’re Geno, huh? Sid hasn’t shut up about you for days. He says you’re a good player.”

Evgeni shrugs, but Sidney kisses his cheek and says, “He’s the best.” He’s sitting cross-legged in Evgeni’s lap, his back resting against Evgeni’s chest.

Evgeni squeezes his waist in thanks. “Nice to meet. You D-man?” He’s certainly big enough.

Burnsie grins and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m a forward. I’m not a bad defensive player, though. Coach back home thinks I’ll get further that way. I’m thinking of making the change.”

Evgeni nods. “Have size for it. Big body; good for hit.”

“Exactly.”

Burnsie perks up admirably with some food in his belly and the sick out of his system. He thanks them for helping out and then abandons the room after a quick shower and a change.

“Give you a chance to be alone. It’s the least I can do.”

Evgeni nods at him gratefully as he leaves. He seems like a decent guy. 

“So,” he says when they’re alone. He nuzzles the back of Sidney’s neck before placing a gentle kiss there. “We’re underage. We have to wait until you’re eighteen before we can get married. That’s a year and a half away.”

Sidney shakes his head. He leans to the side so he can glance back at Evgeni, but he doesn’t move out of his lap. “I think about this last couple of days. One of the Finnish players, he married. His wife is—how you say?” He makes a gesture over his stomach, and Evgeni’s brows go up.

“Pregnant? They’re having a baby?”

Sidney nods. “I heard they get special permission to marry. Is called—” He switches to English for a second. “—dispensation to marry.” He smiles at Evgeni when he frowns in confusion. “Means exception to rule for marry,” he explains.

“So the legal age to marry in Finland is eighteen?”

“Yes. But can marry younger with special permission if judge agree.”

Evgeni tightens his grip on Sidney. “You said you’d thought about this. Before last night.” 

Sidney hums. He turns in Evgeni’s hold and leans his weight against him until Evgeni falls back against the bed with a grunt.

“Hi,” Sidney says as he settles next to him.

Their faces are so close, Evgeni can feel the breath of Sidney’s exhales across his lips. He reaches out to stroke a hand down the jut of Sidney’s jaw. “Hey,” he says back. “You thought about marrying me,” he reminds him. “Before last night.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a pretty big step, Sidka. Even if we are granted special permission. Marriage is—” _Life changing_. It’s life changing and terrifying and absolutely something Evgeni wants to do. “We can wait, sweetheart. Until you’re eighteen, or longer. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

“I don’t want wait.”

“Sidka.”

Sidney shuffles closer. He threads their fingers together and lifts Evgeni’s hand to his mouth. He kisses the delicate skin above his pulse point.

Evgeni’s breath hitches.

“Want to marry you,” Sidney says. There is no uncertainty in his voice. Only a steady calm.

Evgeni swallows on the lump in his throat. He’s often thought, since meeting Sidney, that he must have been some type of saint in a former life. Surely, Evgeni must have, to have been granted this kind of love in this one. The kind that doesn’t just feel like true love, but the kind that lasts. The kind that is forever.

He looks into Sidney’s eyes and sees his feelings reflected back at him. “Want to marry you too,” Evgeni says finally. Just in case Sidney thought that was in doubt.

**

Sanja stares at him. “You’re getting married? Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Evgeni corrects. “As long as the judge grants a special permission for Sidka.”

January 1 is a national holiday in Finland. Normally, the judge wouldn’t even have picked up the phone when they called her earlier, but she is the aunt of one of the Finnish players, and the guy and Sidney had become fast friends in the last few days.

Apparently.

(Evgeni is not jealous. He’s _not_.)

“You’re crazy.”

Evgeni shrugs, but doesn’t deny the claim.

“And the judge is just going to marry you? Just like that? You’re not even eighteen, Zhenya. Sidney is _sixteen_!”

Evgeni sighs. He’s been worried about that as well. Not Sidney, though. He has no such concerns; he is convinced that the judge will grant them the dispensation they need to marry. There might be no baby involved, but there is still a special circumstance.

(“Judge will understand, Geno. Will see how much we love each other and that marry is best for us.”

“Marr _iage_ , Sidka.”

“Marriage,” Sidney agreed with a smile and a gentle press of his lips to Evgeni’s.) 

Finnish law states that a person can marry of their own volition even at seventeen as long as they turn eighteen in the current calendar year. The new year has already begun; no one can deny Evgeni the right to marry here.

Sidney is a different matter. Their circumstances aren’t extraneous enough that the judge is likely to grant them the disposition without parental consent.

“A judge can grant us special permission,” Evgeni tells Sanja. “We just need one of Sidka’s parents to sign a consent form.”

“And where is Sidka now?”

“Emailing his parents the consent form.”

Sanja makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. His eyes are comically wide. “They _agreed_?”

Just barely, Evgeni doesn’t say, and only Troy.

Evgeni will never, for as long as he live, forget the sight Sidney had made, sitting on a hotel bed in Helsinki, clutching his cell phone to his ear with one hand and the other locked around one of Evgeni’s in a vice grip as he pleaded with his father to understand.

“I love him, Dad,” he’d said quietly. “I’m marrying him with or without your blessing. But I’d like it, all the same.”

Evgeni has only talked to Sidney’s father a handful of times, usually with Sidney there, when he turns the phone on speaker. The only time Evgeni has talked to Troy on his own was when he was finalising the details of the Crosbys’ trip to Russia, for Sidney’s Christmas present.

This is what Evgeni knows about Troy Crosby: Taylor is his baby, but Sidney is his firstborn. It broke his heart to have to send Sidney to Shattuck, but he did it because he loves his son and because that was what had been best for Sidney. Because Sidney needed it. He let Sidney come to Russia for the same reasons, and it’s why he’ll sign the parental consent forms now. And because Sidney had said, _I love him, Dad_.

“His dad did,” Evgeni says. “He’ll sign the papers, scan it, and then email them back. We just have to show the judge, pay the registration fees, and then she’ll marry us.”

“Just like that?” Sanja asks again, but it sounds like less of a question this time.

“Just like that,” Evgeni agrees.

Sanja shakes his head in disbelief, but there is a slow grin spreading over his face. “Fuck it,” he says. “Yes! Okay! I’ll be one of your witnesses. You need four?”

“Yes. Two for each of us. I’m going to ask Konstantin as well.”

“Who’ll be witnessing for Sidka?”

“His roommate agreed to it,” Evgeni says. “He seems like a good guy. And I think Sidka said he’d ask his goalie too. Some guy named Flower.”

“Flower?”

Evgeni shrugs. He hasn’t met the guy, but Sidney seemed to think he’d be willing to witness. 

Sanja walks up to him. He clamps a hand around Evgeni’s shoulders, and then drags him in for a hug. “You’re both crazy, but if this is really what you want, congrats, man. You’re getting married!”

Evgeni grins and hugs Sanja back. He’s getting married.

**

Flower the goalie turns out to be a French-Canadian with a perpetual grin on his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes. The first thing he ever says to Evgeni is in French. It translates to something like, “So which one of you has got the bun in the oven?”

Or so Sidney claims when Evgeni asks him to translate.

Flower smirks, so Evgeni is pretty sure the translation is accurate. He replies with a, “Fuck you,” and Flower laughs, delighted.

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

** 

Judge Oksa is a surprisingly young woman with impeccable English—she spent several years in London, she reveals, when Sanja, the fool, tries to chat her up by complimenting her accent. She’s intimidatingly beautiful and has no time for anyone’s bullshit. She eyes them seriously from behind her desk, looking from person to person before finally settling her gaze on Sidney and Evgeni.

“I want you to know that this is not a decision I have made lightly. Marriage is no trifle thing. It’s a commitment not easily broken, and you are both very young. As there is no pregnancy involved, I would normally encourage you to wait until you’re a little older, but I understand that these are special circumstances. You are professional hockey players, and as you do not share a nationality and you wish to be able to live together, I agree that marriage makes that easier for you both whether you decide to live in Russia or in Canada. Or the States, should you make it to the NHL. It will certainly help your immigration status in whichever country you end up in.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair, eyes taking in the way Sidney and Evgeni are standing close to each other. Her eyes dip to their tangled fingers, and Evgeni gives Sidney a reassuring squeeze. He’s nervous and excited, can feel the tremble in Sidney’s hand that tells Evgeni that he feels the same.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if the judge refuses to marry them. If she says no.

“Mr. Malkin, you are old enough according to Finnish law to decide for yourself if you want to get married. Even so, I find myself compelled to ask if you are absolutely sure you want to go through with this.”

“Am sure,” Evgeni says firmly, nodding his head. He wants this, wants Sidney. Forever and always, no matter what.

Next to him, Sidney smiles encouragingly.

“And you, Mr. Crosby? I have the signed parental consent form right here, and I have spoken to your father. That doesn’t mean you have to go through with this. You can still back out.”

Sidney makes a noise of disagreement. “I want this. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure. I love Geno, and I want to marry him. I want to be his husband.”

Evgeni has to hold himself back from grabbing Sidney’s face between his hands and kissing him firmly.

Judge Oksa looks at them for a long, drawn-out moment. Finally, her serious demeanour slips and the barest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Very well,” she says. “All the papers are in order, and you can pay the registration fee on your way out of the courthouse. Remember to present your passports. You too,” she says, nodding at Sanja and the others standing behind them.

Sanja grins and gives her a thumbs up. Judge Oksa smiles a little wider.

“All right. Let’s begin.” 

**

Evgeni and Sidney get married at 13.07 on January 2, 2004. 

Sidney says, “I do,” in English, and Evgeni replies in kind in Russian, because that’s how it’s been between them since that very first phone call almost three years ago; an approximation of a language that is a mix of Russian and English and hockey jargon and so uniquely theirs.

They don’t exchange rings, because they haven’t had the time to buy any, but they’re wearing flower crowns they’d gotten at the local flower shop a couple of blocks away from the courthouse—at Burnsie’s insistence—and these they exchange.

It’s a symbolic gesture, and Evgeni is going to get Sidney a ring later, of course he is, but now, as Evgeni removes the crown from his head and places it gently on Sidney’s, Sidney’s face is flushed and happy and Evgeni doesn’t think he’s ever felt so much love for another person before in his life.

Somewhere in the background, a camera flashes and Evgeni reminds himself to make sure Flower sends them copies of the pictures once he’s gotten the film developed.

(He also reminds himself to thank him for having had the forethought of buying a disposal camera before they entered the courthouse; Evgeni had been too distracted by the prospect of getting to marry Sidney to remember getting pictures to immortalise the event.)

Judge Oksa says, “I now pronounce you a lawfully wedded couple. Congratulations, you may kiss,” and Sanja and Konstantin and Burnsie and Flower all whistle and holler and clap loudly as Evgeni and Sidney kiss and kiss for the first time as husband and husband.

They’re _married_.

Nothing can keep them apart now. 

**

Team Canada did well enough in the round robin to advance directly to the semifinals; they don’t play until the next day.

Evgeni and his teammates, however, will be taking on the Finns in the quarterfinals later that evening.

They’re late meeting up with the team, though Evgeni can’t bring himself to care. He’s so happy, he feels as if he’s floating on a cloud of all things good and lovely.

Coach barks, “Where the hell have you been? You’re late!”

“Zhenya got married, Coach,” Sanja says with a grin, and next to him, Konstantin smiles serenely. “It was a beautiful ceremony. You should have been there.”

Coach is stunned silent for a second. He looks between the three of them, obviously waiting for one of them to crack at what he must think is nothing more than a silly prank. When they all stare back at him expectantly, he groans and drags the palm of his hand over his face.

“I don’t want to know. Jesus. _Fucking teenagers_.”

Finland edges them out with a single goal, and the game ends 4-3.

Evgeni is gutted. They’re eliminated from the tournament and he hasn’t even medaled; he failed to get a single point in the game. His only consolation is Sidney waiting for him outside of the locker room.

“I’m so sorry, babe,” he says and reels Evgeni into his arms. “You play so good. Was so close, Geno.”

Losing sucks. Evgeni is always in a terrible mood after, clinging to the losses and replaying the games over and over in his mind, so he can dissect them down to the very seconds of each period.

He never quite manages to single out where it all goes wrong.

Sidney is always better with losses. He hates losing as much as Evgeni; there is no one more competitive than Sidney, but he moves on quicker. He sheds the hurt of the loss by focusing on what he can do better, and then he goes out and does it.

Evgeni does too, usually, but it takes him longer.

It helps having Sidney close. Helps getting to go to bed with him and whisper secrets into his skin. Helps knowing that Evgeni never has to deal with a loss all by himself again, because he has Sidney. He has his husband.

They make love that night, and it’s soft and gentle and maybe not the wedding night Evgeni would have envisioned for himself the few times he’s considered marriage before, but it’s perfect all the same.

Sidney makes it perfect.

Team Russia doesn’t stick around, flying out the next morning before the semifinals.

Evgeni stays behind. Coach doesn’t even try to argue.

“Text when you land, okay?” Sidney tells Sanja and Konstantin as they say their goodbyes, and Sanja grins good-naturedly as Sidney makes sure they both have his number.

Evgeni rolls his eyes even before Sanja opens his mouth to coo at Sidney, “Such a good wife.” He cackles madly when Sidney socks him in the arm, hard.

Canada trounces the Czechs with a dominating 7-2 performance that evening. Sidney puts up two assists on the board, and it’s weird seeing the number twenty-eight on his back instead of the eighty-seven Evgeni is used to seeing.

He doesn’t need to see the number on his jersey to know which player is Sidney, though. No one else works their edges like that.

After the game, the team goes out to eat at a local pizza place.

They drag Evgeni along. 

Flower keeps introducing him to Sidney’s teammates as, “Sid’s Russian bride Geno,” and everyone except Burnsie look mostly bemused, but no one seems upset about him being there and Sidney plants himself firmly in Evgeni’s lap and refuses to move for the rest of the night.

Evgeni can’t complain about that—even if his thighs fell asleep hours ago and Sidney is actually kind of heavy.

“For real? You actually got married?” someone asks later, and when Evgeni nods, the guy laughs good-naturedly. “Holy shit, Crosby. You don’t do anything by half, do you?”

His name is Max Talbot, but everyone mostly calls him Talbo. Besides Flower, he’s one of Sidney’s closest friends on the team. He’s also phenomenally insulted that Sidney had gotten married and failed to invite him.

“I would have,” Sidney chirps at him, “but you were still drunk from Getzy’s New Year’s Eve party. I actually did try telling you.”

Talbo mutters darkly in French but seems to accept this easily enough. “At least invite me if you ever decide to renew your vows or whatever.”

Sidney beams. He turns to look at Evgeni as if that is something he might want to do someday, and the thought of that is so satisfying that Evgeni just has to kiss him. When he tilts his head down in invitation, Sidney obliges with an easy grace that Evgeni hopes he never tires of.

He’s not particularly worried. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of Sidney. Not for as long as he’ll live.

**

Canada loses the gold medal game.

Evgeni knows it’s petty to be pleased about that, but he can’t help himself. 

He still comforts Sidney with kisses and promises of, “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could,” because it’s not Sidney’s fault that none of his teammates could finish any of the chances he kept generating for them.

Evgeni even feels bad for Flower; Canada had been up 3-1 when Flower left the crease to clear the puck that hit his own defensemen before going into the wide-open net. There is nothing worse than an own goal.

“Next time,” Sidney says simply.

“Next time,” Evgeni agrees. 

**

On the day they leave Helsinki, Sidney disappears off with Talbo for a couple of hours. He leaves with a kiss to Evgeni’s cheek and a promise of being back soon.

Evgeni shrugs and lets himself be roped into a game of poker with Flower and Burnsie; Burnsie cleans them out.

They hitch a ride with Sidney’s team to the airport and part ways with the Canadians after getting through passport control.

“Keep in touch,” Flower says by way of goodbye, and Talbo mutters something vaguely threatening of starting a MSN group chat.

Burnsie grins his agreement. “Sid has my number. Let’s meet up sometime.”

They leave with friendly pats on the back and the assurance that they’ll go out for dinner the next time they all see each other.

“A wedding reunion!” Burnsie says, and then laughs when Talbo scowls and tells him to fuck off—“Don’t exclude people, it’s rude.”

Evgeni doesn’t think a group dinner is likely to ever happen anyway, but it’s a nice sentiment, and he likes Burnsie and Flower a lot—Evgeni wouldn’t even be married now if they hadn’t been willing to stand witnesses for Sidney. Even Talbo has grown on him in the last couple of days.

“Come on,” Evgeni says. He tugs on his grip on Sidney’s hand, giggling when Sidney smirks and tugs back hard enough for Evgeni to lose his balance and fall against Sidney’s side. He grins and wraps an arms around Sidney’s shoulder, holding him close. “Let’s go find our gate.”

They amble through the airport lazily. Sometimes they stop by a shop that looks interesting, browsing through the different souvenirs. Sidney ends up buying a keyring for Taylor and a delicate little porcelain figurine for his mother.

“I wish we have time for wedding trip before go back to Magnitogorsk.”

Evgeni looks at him. They’ve reached their gate now and are whiling the time away by people-watching as they wait for the plane to board. He lifts their joint hands to his mouth and presses his lips against Sidney’s pulse point. He has to hold back a smirk at Sidney’s sharp intake of breath, at the way his eyes go hooded and fix on Evgeni’s face expectantly.

If they had more time, Evgeni might have tried to convince Sidney that a quickie in an airport restroom would be a _fantastic_ idea—he hasn’t managed to sell Sidney on the idea of semi-public sex just yet, but Evgeni can tell he’s not appalled by it. In fact, Sidney has looked curious more than anything the few times Evgeni has brought it up.

“Do you mean a honeymoon? We’ll go on one once the season ends, Sidka. Before the draft. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

They won’t even have to ask for permission from anyone. Being married means they’re adults in the eyes of the law—Russia, Canada, America...it doesn’t matter where. Sidney and Evgeni became emancipated the second they said their _I do_ s.

They can do whatever they want, go wherever they please.

Sidney smiles hopefully up at him. “Anywhere?” he says.

Evgeni rolls his eyes, because Sidney is nothing if not predictable. “You’re not allowed to crush on Steve Yzerman anymore. You’re a married man now.” Evgeni is pretty sure they’re going to end up spending their honeymoon in Detroit to watch the Red Wings play if they make the playoffs.

Which, because it's the Red Wings, of course, they will.

Sidney laughs. The sound of it is happy and bright, and Evgeni wouldn’t stop his answering grin even if he could. He sighs, content, when Sidney rests his head on Evgeni’s shoulder and presses his lips against his neck.

“Not even little bit crush?” Sidney teases. His breath tickles Evgeni’s skin, hot and fleeting.

Evgeni knows he’s joking, that not even Steve Yzerman can measure up to Evgeni in Sidney’s eyes. Still. Sidney is his now, and he is Sidney’s. He busses a kiss against the side of Sidney’s head.

“Not even a little crush,” he says firmly.

“Okay,” Sidney says easily. He nuzzles closer to Evgeni’s side. “Don’t need Steve Yzerman anyway. Have you. You all I need.”

Evgeni beams at him.

“Good answer,” he says, and leans over to kiss him properly, because good behaviour should be rewarded.

They’re still making out when they announce over the PA that their gate is now open for boarding.

**

Evgeni has been married for half a week by the time he and Sidney arrive back in Magnitogorsk. 

He thinks, _Fuck_.

He is going to have to tell his parents that Sidney is his husband now. Evgeni will never regret his decision to marry Sidney, not for as long as he lives, but somehow, he doesn’t think marriage was what Mama had in mind when she pushed a box of condoms into his hands and said, “Be safe.”

“Hey,” Sidney says. He’s holding Evgeni’s hand, squeezing once in comfort as they walk up the steps to the house.

They took a taxi; Evgeni has been dead set on avoiding his parents for as long as he’s physically able.

“Will be okay,” Sidney tells him. He leans over to kiss Evgeni sweetly on the corner of his mouth. “They angry little bit, maybe, but they love you, Geno. Will, uh, what word? When say is okay for apologise?”

Evgeni smiles at him. “Forgive,” he says. “They’ll forgive me eventually.” And they will, Evgeni believes that. He’s just less sure about when. He leans down to accept another kiss from Sidney—for strength and good luck and because he’ll never turn down a kiss from him—and then steels himself, hefting the hockey bag on his shoulder and grabbing his duffle bag with his free hand.

Sidney is the first one through the door, but Evgeni is taller. He sees the look on his mother’s face just fine.

 _Fuck_ , he thinks again. She knows.

**

Mama and Papa banish Sidney to the living room with Denis, and after a lot of yelling and crying, Evgeni is no closer to finding the words to express _why_ he’d married Sidney than he was three hours ago when Papa had told him to sit down at the kitchen table and, “Explain, Zhenya.”

Evgeni can’t. Not in any way they’ll accept right now.

The simple truth is that he loves Sidney, that he needs him more than Evgeni needs anyone else. 

_Anything_ else—even hockey—as frightening as that concept is.

Evgeni knows that’s not something his parents will understand. How can they, when he barely understands it himself?

“I love him,” Evgeni says again, because what else is there to say? But Mama is shaking her head. There are tears in her eyes; her cheeks are wet, and her lower lip trembles as if it’s all she can do to choke back her sobs.

Evgeni feels gutted, but he refuses to apologise, refuses to take any of it back.

He won’t. Not Sidney and not his marriage.

“Why?” Mama says. She doesn’t understand, and Evgeni doesn’t know how to explain it in a way that she will. _Why, Zhenya?_ she keeps asking, repeating the question over and over again. Why did he feel the need to marry Sidney so young, why couldn’t he wait, why didn’t they tell anyone, why the secrecy and the rush and—“Why, Zhenya? Why would you do this. You’re so young. I know you’re in love and you think it will never end, but you’re _seventeen_.”

“Mama—”

“We’ll get it annulled. You rushed into it; it was a mistake. The judge will understand. We’ll—” 

Zhenya stands abruptly. His chair tips over, and the sound of it crashing to the floor has Denis and Sidney rushing into the kitchen.

“Geno?” Sidney asks uncertainly, but Evgeni doesn’t answer.

He’s angry now.

“I apologise for not telling you sooner,” he bites out. “And I’m sorry you weren’t there, I wanted you to be there, I really did. But I will not apologise for my marriage. I will not apologise for loving Sidney. And we will _not_ be getting an annulment, or a divorce or whatever else you think can break this marriage.”

“Zhenya—”

“I love you both so much, and Sidney and I would like to stay here, but if you can’t accept that we’re married now, that we’re going to stay married, Sidney and I will get our own place.”

“You’re seventeen, Zhenya,” Papa says evenly. “Still a child in the eyes of the law. You won’t be able to rent or even buy anywhere without parental consent.”

Evgeni walks over to where Sidney is hovering anxiously behind Denis. His brother steps away with a nod, and Evgeni manages to muster up a smile for him.

Denis is the only one who’s bothered to congratulate them, offering a quiet, “I wish I had been there,” as he’d pulled Evgeni into a quick hug before ushering Sidney into the living room.

“Geno?” Sidney says again as Evgeni reaches for his hand. He goes easily when Evgeni tugs, a perfect fit where he tucks himself into Evgeni’s side, as if he was always meant to be there.

They haven’t talked about this, because Evgeni honestly hadn’t expected his parents to react so strongly, but as he stares into Sidney’s eyes, Sidney nods and whispers in English, “Whatever you want to do, I’m with you.”

Evgeni smiles gratefully.

“I’m emancipated now,” he says. He turns back to look at his parents. He’s saddened that they look so disappointed, as if Evgeni is a stranger they don’t even recognise anymore—but he is not regretful. He’d marry Sidney a thousand times if he could; there is no universe in which Evgeni doesn’t say _I do._ “Sidney is emancipated too. Legally, we’re adults. We can rent anywhere. Or buy, if it comes to it.”

“Zhenya—”

“What would you have done, Mama, if it had been your parents? If you married Papa and then your parents told you to get an annulment, that your marriage was wrong?”

Mama shakes her head. She looks tired; her cheeks are a blotchy red from her tears. “It’s not the same, Zhenya. And I didn’t say it was _wrong_ , just, you’re so young. I don’t think you understand yet how hard marriage can be, how big of a commitment.”

“Natalia,” Sidney interrupts them gently, and Evgeni cuts him a surprised look. He’s been a quietly supportive presence so far, allowing Evgeni to work this out with his parents without interference—the same courtesy Evgeni had shown Sidney as he’d sat on a hotel bed in Helsinki, telling Troy Crosby, “I love him, Dad,” over the phone.

“Geno and me know commit. From little age, we commit to hockey every day, practise, games, teammates. We do this because we love. We travel all over world for team, for hockey, because we love and because we make commit.” Sidney meets Evgeni’s eyes. He offers him a small smile, just the barest uplift of his lips, but it’s the surest thing Evgeni has seen all day.

Whatever happens, there is Sidney and there is Evgeni, and there’s the two of them together.

“Marry Geno was not mistake, was not something we do just because. I love him, I love being his husband.”

Mama sighs wearily, and Papa is rubbing at his temples, but Evgeni mostly just feels pride. He burrows his face in Sidney’s hair, breathing in the scent of him—stale and a little sweaty now from their travelling, but so beloved all the same.

“It’s commit _ment_ ,” he says quietly, and feels Sidney nod in acknowledgement at the correction.

Sidney threw himself into learning Russian right from the beginning, for Evgeni’s sake, and for their teammates, because Sidney wasn’t lying before; when he makes a commitment, he follows through, always.

Evgeni is the same.

Mama sighs again. “I know you love each other, and I’m glad it’s you, Sidka, truly I am. Zhenya couldn’t do any better. But you are so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. There is time for marriage and kids later.”

Papa goes still at her words, and Mama sucks in a startled breath. “You’re not—?”

“He’s not pregnant,” Evgeni says with a roll of his eyes. He’s surprised no one brought it up sooner. “And we didn’t think he was, either. We just got married, Mama, because we love each other, and because there is no one else in the world I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Evgeni tightens his hold on Sidney and looks at his parents beseechingly, willing them to understand. “Why can’t the rest of forever start now? Why should we wait when we already know _now_?”

Mama says nothing to that, and Papa merely shakes his head. “It’s late. We’re all tired. Let’s end things here for tonight and we can discuss what to do tomorrow.”

Evgeni breathes in slowly. He tightens his grip on Sidney. “No. There won’t be any discussions about what to do. Sidka and I are married. We’re going to _stay_ married, and there is nothing anyone can do about it. I know this isn’t what you wanted for me, but I’m happy, Mama, Papa. I’ve never felt so sure about anything before.”

He swallows, looking away from Mama’s tear-stricken face and Papa’s disappointed one to the easy comfort and familiarity of Sidney’s. He takes strength from the affection he can read in his eyes. Sidney smiles at him, as if to say, _It will be okay. Everything is going to be okay._

“Zhenya—”

“I don’t need your blessing, but I would like it all the same. Please understand that.” Evgeni remembers Sidney telling his father the same, and Troy Crosby had given them his blessings for the love of his son.

Evgeni already knows his parents won’t do the same now.

Papa and Mama share an uneasy glance, but Evgeni holds his ground. Finally, Papa says, “Go to bed, Zhenya. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Evgeni is about to open his mouth to argue—he doesn’t want to talk about this anymore; he’s married, and nothing is going to change that—but Sidney pulls at him gently. He shakes his head minutely when Evgeni looks back down at him, surprised.

“Let’s just go to bed, Geno.” His voice is hushed enough that Evgeni doesn’t think anyone else can hear, even in the quiet of the room. Not that it would matter, with the English spilling from his lips. “You and I both know that we’re not getting anywhere with this tonight. It’ll just end up being an even bigger fight. I don’t want to see you fight with your parents, okay? Not because of me. Please.”

And Evgeni will never be able to deny Sidney anything when he’s looking at him like that, his green eyes huge and bottom lip firmly between his teeth, chewing at it anxiously.

Evgeni nods. “Okay,” he says. He gives his parents one last look before walking out of the kitchen, hand clamped around Sidney’s.

**

Things are strained between Evgeni and his parents the next day. It gets worse when an official-looking envelope with Finnish stamps arrive in the mail.

It’s addressed to Evgeni Malkin and Sidney Crosby; their marriage certificate. Mama cries when she sees it.

Sidney and Denis, bless them both, act as if nothing is wrong, as if Mama isn’t constantly choking back words of annulment or divorce whenever she eyes Sidney and Evgeni—or the way Papa can’t even stand to be in the same room as them without starting another argument.

All his life, Evgeni has been a mama’s boy, and his dad his hero. He was always the child that took the most after them both—stubborn and athletic, and with a will of iron.

They’ve been proud of him, always, and he’s been loved.

To feel the weight of their shared disappointment in him is devastating. He doesn’t know how to fix it, or how he would even try. All he knows is that he refuses to apologise.

He won’t ever apologise for loving Sidney.

“What if they never forgive me? What if they’ll hate me forever?” he asks Sidney that night. He’s crying into Sidney’s shoulder, taking comfort in Sidney’s arms around him and the sweet nothings he mumbles against Evgeni’s temple.

Sidney strokes a hand through Evgeni’s hair as he whispers, “They don’t hate you, Geno. I promise. Will forgive you. Just shock for them right now.”

Evgeni knows that, he really does, but knowing doesn’t make the waiting any easier—it’s as if the passage of time has slowed down, as if the seconds stretch on and on the longer Evgeni and his parents tiptoe around each other.

By the time their break is nearly over and it’s just a couple of days until they have to report back to the team, it’s Sidney who says, “Maybe move out is good idea after all. Get apartment close to rink. Little bit space apart is good for you. All of you.” He looks at Evgeni carefully. “It’ll let you get some perspective,” he says in English.

It _is_ a good idea, and Evgeni is the one who suggested it initially, but it breaks his heart to have to do it.

He likes living at home, likes the soundtrack of his family going about their day around him and always has.

“Yes,” Evgeni says. He burrows his face into Sidney’s neck, pressing soft, easy kisses against the skin there. “Get new bed too. Not creak so much.”

Sidney laughs at that, his eyes sparkling with fondness and amusement.

He’s so very lovely, Evgeni thinks.

“Will you let me pay for it this time?”

“Yes.” He wouldn’t have, before, but now things are different. They’re married; what’s Evgeni’s is also Sidney’s, and vice versa.

He’ll let Sidney buy him all the beds he wants.

** 

It takes Gennady less than three hours to secure them an apartment for rent when Evgeni calls him and says, “Do you know a place? Sidney and I got married in Helsinki; we need our own space.”

Evgeni has to assure Gennady seven times that no, he’s not joking, yes, they really did get married, and “It was absolutely legal. I have the marriage certificate to prove it.”

They get a conference call from Barry and Brisson a few minutes later; they’re not impressed.

What’s done is done, though, and it’s not as if Sidney and Evgeni regret getting married—Evgeni worries for all of four seconds that _Sidney_ might be when Brisson starts talking about image and sponsors and what this could mean for their (Sidney’s) future, but then Sidney is telling their agents to kindly fuck off and mind their own business—in his understated, polite Canadian way, of course—and an hour later, Gennady is arranging a showing for the apartment.

Sidney looks at the pictures Gennady emailed and then glances over at Evgeni.

“Do we really need a showing? It looks good enough, and I don’t care where we live as long as I’m with you. We won’t stay for long, anyway.”

They won’t even stay a full six months if they leave after the season and the playoffs end. They haven’t even had a chance to talk about that yet. Christ.

Evgeni sighs, weary and exhausted. He’s eager to get away from his parents for a while, though, and he trusts in his agent’s judgement; Gennady wouldn’t have shown them the apartment if it wasn’t any good. Better yet. It’s partially furnished and they can move in today if they want.

(Evgeni wants.)

“Okay. I’ll tell Gennady.” 

And that’s how they end up getting a place close enough to the rink that even Evgeni can’t avoid being on time their first day back.

Coach is ecstatic. Or as ecstatic as Coach gets, which is to say, not very.

“If I’d fucking known marriage would be the thing to get your lazy ass out of bed, I’d have told Crosya to marry you months ago.”

Sidney rolls his eyes while Evgeni sputters at the insult; he’s not so much lazy as perpetually late. He’s working on it.

“All right,” Coach says. He looks between Sidney and Evgeni from behind the desk in his office; he’d called them in for a chat about how they’d done during Worlds, but Evgeni knows this is about his marriage to Sidney and little else.

Coach knows, and Sidney knows.

He’s not sure why Coach even bothers with the pretense. 

Coach narrows his eyes as if reading Evgeni’s thoughts. “Velichkin wasn’t pleased,” he says unexpectedly. “Neither was the top brass. Child marriages don’t do much for business.”

Sidney rolls his eyes again, but he reaches out for Evgeni’s hand, defiant. “Not kids,” he says in his careful Russian. “Adult now. Because of marriage.”

“And it was all consensual,” Evgeni hurries to add. “No one was forced into anything.” Coach snorts, so that probably hadn’t been a concern with anyone.

“Just don’t let it affect you out on the ice, or I will bench you. That means you in particular, Malkin. Gods know you have a temper on you.”

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Coach cuts him off. He levels Evgeni with a glare before turning his gaze on Sidney. “I assume you kept your name, or do we need to print up new jerseys.”

Evgeni stares at him, incredulous. _Of course_ Sidney kept his name. He’s the famous one. Coach snorts derisively when Evgeni repeats this aloud. “Why don’t you ask me if I need a new jersey?” Evgeni asks, and Coach looks at him as if he is particularly dimwitted.

“I’ve never known a Russian man to give up his name,” he says, which has Evgeni nodding in agreement now that he thinks about it, and Sidney rolling his eyes at them both. Again.

“We’re in agreement, then?” Coach says. “Things will go on like usual, and if you have a fucking domestic, keep it the hell off my ice.”

“Of course,” Sidney says. He looks insulted at the implication that he would be anything but the consummate professional.

Evgeni snickers quietly, and smiles sweetly when Sidney turns to glare at him—he knows they’re both thinking about how Sidney had dragged Evgeni into an empty equipment room right before their meeting with Coach.

Evgeni doesn’t think exchanging blowjobs in the workplace is all that professional, but it’s not as if he’s going to discourage Sidney whenever he feels like putting his mouth on Evgeni’s dick.

He’ll only ever say _please_ and _thank you_.

“It won’t be a problem, Coach. The team comes first,” Evgeni says, and is pleased to note that Sidney loses his glare at that, nodding his agreement.

Coach eyes them for a long moment. “See that it doesn’t.” His lips twitch, and if it were anyone else, Evgeni might think Coach was trying to smile. Which is why he is suitably shocked when Coach says, “Congratulations on your marriage. I hope it will be a long and happy one.”

Other than Denis, he’s the first adult to congratulate them on their marriage—it’s the first time Evgeni feels as if he doesn’t have to defend the decision.

He beams, and when Sidney turns to meet his eyes, he is grinning happily back at Evgeni. “So do we, Coach.” 

**

“Fucking hell,” is the first thing they hear when they step into the locker room. “You really got married? It’s not just a prank?”

There are back slaps and congratulatory hugs, and even if some of the older guys like Osipov ignores them or gives them sour looks, most of the guys seem happy for them.

From his seat in his stall, Konstantin is reenacting the wedding ceremony as if he’s the one who said _I do_.

Evgeni feels a weight lift off his shoulder. It feels as if he’s done nothing but defend his decision to marry Sidney ever since they came back to Russia; he’s been prepared to do the same now. He’s so relieved he doesn’t have to, that instead of disappointed or angry, his team seem happy for them. At least the guys who matter.

(Osipov can go fuck himself.)

“This means we’re celebrating later tonight, right? We didn’t even get to party after! You owe me this. It’ll be like a belated bachelor party. For you both.” Konstantin scratches thoughtfully at the stubble on his chin. “I’ve never had two buddies get married before. Probably we should have had two bachelor parties. Do you get one each?”

Sidney laughs and says, “Not sure how it work,” and when he grins over at Evgeni, his eyes are so very, very pretty.

Their teammates waste no time chirping Evgeni about the besotted glances he keeps shooting his husband.

Whatever, Evgeni thinks. Husband _._ Sidney is his _husband_.

If Evgeni wants to worship the ground Sidney walks on, he figures that is practically his marital obligation anyway.

“But for real, party at your place? It can even be a mixed housewarming slash bachelor party.” 

Konstantin must have been the one to spill the beans about their marriage, but Evgeni has no idea how the guys have found out that they’ve moved into an apartment close to the rink, and Konstantin only shrugs and says something about the arena grapevine when Evgeni asks about it.

“Don’t worry about it. Just write up a list of things you need for the apartment; gotta make sure we don’t get you double of anything.”

Evgeni shakes his head, but Sidney doesn’t look opposed to it, and a party to celebrate their marriage does sound good. Besides, who is Evgeni to turn down free stuff? If his teammates want to buy the last few things they still need to get for the apartment, Evgeni has half a mind to let them.

“Free stuff,” he tells Sidney, wiggling his brows at him.

Sidney snorts. But yeah, Evgeni thinks with a grin. Free stuff. It’s not as if they’re going to say no.

Or so Evgeni thinks until Konstantin sees fit to gift them a car. The vehicle he shows up to the party in is a shitty, beat up Ford that is running on fumes and strength of will only. It must have seen its glory days some fifteen years earlier.

“It was my cousin’s,” Konstantin explains with a grin. “He was gonna get it wrecked, but I convinced him to hold off for another six months. I was gonna use it myself, but if I can hitch a ride with you guys, this thing will last you through the season, at least.”

“It won’t last another day!” Evgeni exclaims in disbelief. He stares warily at the sorry thing, half afraid it’ll come apart at any second now.

Next to him, Sidney sighs. “We need car. This one fine for now. Is only few months. Besides, you get driving card this week if pass test, right?”

Russians are eligible to get their driver’s license at seventeen as long as they turn eighteen the same year their license is issued. Evgeni has been planning for the day he would get his license for _years_. The plan was always to have a brand new Porsche at the ready, as a reward for passing the test.

Not this travesty that is masquerading as a Ford. Evgeni stares at it, despondent, but Konstantin beams at them happily.

He slaps Sidney on the back. “That’s the spirit!” he says, and that’s how they end up with a car as a housewarming gift.

**

A few days after the housewarming party—which was a raging success in that only a dozen beer glasses and a single plate got destroyed; the less talked about the spill on their living room carpet, the better—Sanja and his Moscow Dynamo come into town for their last game against Metallurg this season. They won’t face each other again until the playoffs, and even then there is no guarantee.

Metallurg wins 6-1, which Evgeni is more than a little smug about—he scored two goals—but Sanja takes it with unusually good grace.

“How can I sulk,” he asks, “when I get to spend time with your lovely husband?” He purses his lips at Sidney deliberately, and Evgeni would have punched him in the throat if not for the way Sidney rolls his eyes and leans over to press a soothing kiss to the corner of Evgeni’s mouth.

From across the table, Sanja grins at them. “You sure you don’t want to leave him and run away with me.” He nods his head at Evgeni. “This one didn’t even get you a ring; I will.”

Evgeni scowls. He’s been working on the ring, but Sidney keeps shooting down all of Evgeni’s suggestions. Something about not needing a diamond quite that big.

“Why are you even here?”

“Your lovely husband invited me. Really, Zhenya, keep up.”

“Go away, Sanja,” Evgeni bites out, annoyed.

“Now, now. It’s only natural that Sidka loves me more than you, Zhenya. Everybody does.” 

“Alex,” Sidney warns, and when he gets up from his chair to make his way towards the kitchen, he strokes his hand through Evgeni’s hair before stopping to tug at Sanja’s ear in punishment. “Be nice,” he says.

Evgeni grins at Sanja smugly.

Sanja sighs and stares after Sidney. “Honestly, how did you ever convince him to marry you?” 

“ _He_ asked me!” Evgeni protests, even as he knows that Sanja is already aware of this and is mostly just teasing.

“I still can’t believe you went through with it,” Sanja says quietly. He glances in the direction of the kitchen before turning back to Evgeni. He lowers his voice as he asks, “How did your parents take it? My mother would have killed me if I had come home from a tournament with a Canadian bride.”

“Don’t call him that, it’s demeaning.”

Sanja snorts. He’s quiet for a moment, eyeing Evgeni with keen eyes. 

Evgeni hates that Sanja has always had such an easy time of reading him. As if Evgeni’s emotions are always laid bare for the world to see.

“Zhenya,” Sanja prompts, and Evgeni heaves a huge sigh.

“They weren’t happy. Why do you think we moved out?”

“Because it’s weird for a married couple to live at home.”

Evgeni hums. He supposes that is true for most circumstances. Normal circumstances.

“When’s the last time you even spoke with them?”

A week ago now, though Evgeni doesn’t want to admit that aloud. The last time he saw his parents was the day Gennady had gotten them their apartment, and Evgeni and Sidney had walked out the front door with their bags in hand.

Even then they hadn’t said any goodbyes, too much hurt and raw emotions to bridge the taut silence between them.

He’s seen and spoken to Denis since, but there’s been nothing from Mama and Papa. Evgeni hasn’t even seen them at any of the games since their fight.

“That bad, huh?” Sanja comments when Evgeni says nothing.

They’re silent as Sidney returns to the living room with a deep dish of lasagna—homemade, because Evgeni is the only one of them who cooks and it’s one of the few things he knows how to make that doesn’t involve shoving a pizza in the oven or heating soup on the stove top; Sidney usually sets the table.

When the lasagna is gone, Sanja leans back in his chair, patting his stomach in satisfaction.

“I’m sorry, Sidka, I’m going to have to cast you aside. Zhenya, I need you to run away with me back to Moscow, so you can feed me good food every day until I’m fat and happy.”

Sidney laughs. “Geno never run away with you,” he says loyally. “Besides, you never be fat and happy.”

“True,” Sanja agrees, because he’s a vain son of a bitch, and that has never been much of a secret.

The conversation flows easily between the three of them, though Evgeni is content to lean back and let Sidney and Sanja do most of the talking.

He keeps getting distracted by the way Sidney is leaning into his side, stroking idle fingers over Evgeni’s thigh underneath the table. His fingers are getting closer and closer to his crotch, and if Sidney doesn’t stop that, Evgeni is going to throw Sanja out on his ass so he can sex up his husband in peace, far away from Sanja’s prying eyes.

He needn’t have bothered, though. Sanja is the one who calls it a night just a few minutes later. “Curfew,” he explains when Sidney asks if he really has to leave so soon.

“You good to get back to the hotel? Do you want me to call a taxi?” Evgeni asks as Sanja slips into his shoes. He’s steady on his feet, but he’d hitched a ride in Konstantin’s shitty car, and he’s had two beers and a glass of wine to go with the lasagna. The walk back to his hotel is at least twenty minutes.

“It’s fine.” He offers them both a parting hug, making sure to slap Evgeni extra hard on the back because he is an utter asshole like that, and leaves with a promise of, “I’ll text when I’m there.”

Sidney smiles at him. He’s pressed closed to Evgeni’s side again, his arm wrapped around Evgeni’s waist, fingers dipping down into the waistband of his jeans—a testament to the two glasses of wine he’d had with dinner. “Don’t forget this time.”

He did the last time, Evgeni knows. It was Sidney who’d texted to make sure Sanja arrived safely back in Moscow after Worlds.

Sanja grins at them. “I won’t,” he says, and it’s only after he’s gone, when the door is locked and the dishes are cleaned and Evgeni is settling into bed next to Sidney, eyes heavy with sleep and exhaustion, that he thinks about the way Sanja had lingered just a few seconds too long as he’d hugged Sidney goodbye.

**

Evgeni comes home from a milk run one day to find his mother drinking tea at the kitchen island while Sidney is cutting apples into slices before plating them carefully into an artistic looking circle. They’re laughing at some joke Evgeni doesn’t know the punchline to, and for a moment, he’s so startled he stops up short in the doorway.

“Mama,” he says. It’s the first word he’s spoken to her in weeks. “Zhenya. You look well.”

Evgeni blinks at her stupidly, and when he chances a glance at Sidney, he can see him smiling back at him encouragingly.

“I’ll just leave you two alone,” he says in English. He picks up the plate and places it onto the kitchen island, stopping to press his lips against Mama’s cheek sweetly, and then stops again in the doorway, so he can tug Evgeni into a proper welcome home kiss—quick and familiar, like a habit he doesn’t even think about.

Evgeni wants to pull him close and hold onto him. Wants to use him as a shield against his mother’s heavy disappointment.

“You’ll be okay,” Sidney whispers against his lips. And then he’s pulling away, sneaking around Evgeni and disappearing down the hall towards their bedroom.

Evgeni looks back at his mother.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” she asks. Her voice is very neutral.

“I don’t know. Are you going to cry and yell at me again?”

Mama sighs. She lifts an apple slice from the plate, but doesn’t eat it. Inseat she starts peeling at the skin, more absent-minded than nervous, Evgeni thinks.

“I never yelled at you,” Mama says. “But you cried. A lot.”

“I did. I thought I had reason to cry.” 

Evgeni looks at her for a long moment. “And you don’t anymore?” he asks, not sure what to think about that. He gets that she was upset, and Papa too. He thinks if he and Sidney ever have a child that comes home married at sixteen, his first reaction probably won’t be joy, but.

He likes to think that he would have trust enough in his child to give them a chance to prove themselves.

To not speak of annulments and divorce as if it was a given—as if having married the love of his life was somehow detrimental to his future.

More than anything, that’s what hurts the most, Evgeni realises.

Mama doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “You’re still angry then.”

“Yes,” Evgeni says, because he is and there is no point in lying.

Mama nods. She looks unsurprised. “Did you know your husband has been visiting the house regularly?”

Evgeni starts. “What—?”

“I turned him away the first couple of times,” Mama confesses. She looks down at the apple slice in her hand. The skin is completely peeled off now. “I was still so angry with you. With Sidney too. I blamed him, I think. He told me he was the one who proposed.”

“Mama—”

“I know,” she says. “I know that doesn’t mean anything. But it was an easy thing to focus on. And you just left, Zhenya. Without even saying goodbye, you just left. You weren’t there to be angry with, but Sidney was, sometimes. So I turned my anger on him.”

She glances up at Zhenya, her eyes shining wetly. She reaches out to touch his face, her fingers gentle as she runs them over the bridge of his nose to the small cut above his left eyebrow.

It’s new, a high stick that went uncalled their last away game.

“Your husband is a stubborn one,” Mama says as her hand falls away. “He kept coming back, even after I treated him so unkindly. Finally, I had to invite him in to hear what he had to say. Old Mrs. Petyaev was starting to gossip about the young man I kept turning away at the door. She thought I was having an affair. Which of course, I wasn’t, but it was nice to know she thought I could.”

Mama grins when Evgeni makes a strangled sound at the back of his throat. “Mama!” he says, scandalised.

“What?” she asks, all faux innocence. “Sidney is very handsome. I took it as the compliment it was meant to be.”

“Oh my god,” Evgeni groans out. He rubs at his temple in despair. “ _Mama_.”

They’re silent for a moment, a few seconds of comfortable silence that only makes Evgeni think of how much he’s missed her. He used to spend a lot of time with his mother, as if she was just another one of his many friends.

He’s missed hanging out with her. Has missed _her._

“He talked about you a lot,” Mama says after a while. “About what your future would be like.”

“And what did he say?” Evgeni is more than a little curious. He’s been completely unaware that Sidney has been to see his parents, and on a regular basis no less. Evgeni is not even sure where Sidney would have found the time, or how the hell he’d managed to keep it from him, because people like to joke about how Sidney and Evgeni are attached at the hip, and the truth is that they’re not entirely wrong.

Evgeni feels a rush of emotions at the thought of Sidney doing this for him, of taking the time to see his parents and wearing them down until they were at least willing to listen. Evgeni is smart enough to realise that his mother is here now because of Sidney and his particular brand of stubborn—formidable, even on the best of days.

Evgeni thinks they would have let the hurt and the anger fester otherwise, all of them too proud to be the first to give in, the first to say, “I’m sorry.”

“I worried, you know, about Sidney,” Mama says. “I could see how much you loved him, Zhenya, and it was so visceral and _big_ for one so young. You love so much and so hard. I thought maybe he didn’t love you back quite so intensely.” There are tears in her eyes now. “I’m so sorry I ever thought that. He—he loves you just as much as you love him. I know that now.”

Evgeni wonders if he shouldn’t feel some kind of anger at that, that his mother was so blatantly doubting his husband’s feelings for him, but mostly he just feels exhausted. Besides, he can read the shame in her eyes; she doesn’t need him to tell her how wrong she’s been.

“What did he say?” Evgeni asks again.

Mama looks at him for a long moment. Finally, she offers him a small smile. “He said he didn’t care what the future looked like as long as he got to spend it with you. He said that whatever happened would happen regardless of anything he did or you did, and that you would deal with it when it happened, together. He said that as long as he has you, nothing else matters.”

Evgeni sucks in a breath. That’s—

Sidney, of the two of them, is the pragmatic one. Evgeni is the romantic, the one who likes to spoil Sidney with grand gestures and sweet words.

That’s not to say that their relationship is one-sided. Far from it. Sidney does a hundred little things throughout the day, every day, that reminds Evgeni of how much his husband loves him. They’re good about dividing up the household chores, about splitting it even, but Sidney usually takes on the task of making the bed because Evgeni hates it and always forgets anyway—Sidney is the one who makes sure they buy the special brand of laundry detergent, the one that keeps Evgeni’s skin from itching and breaking out into hives. He never complains whenever Evgeni wants to experiment making new food in the kitchen, and this is how he knows Sidney loves him, because the other day Evgeni had gotten cocky trying to make caramelised onions; he’d burnt the pan so bad they were forced to throw it out with the rest of the trash, and the whole apartment had been covered in smoke before they managed to air it all out.

(Evgeni had pouted sullenly while Sidney laughed and laughed and called for takeout.)

Sidney is always there, a calm, steady presence within touching distance—and he touches Evgeni all the time. Thousands of thoughtless touches that show Evgeni just how much he is loved.

But he’s not one for speeches or grand declarations. That’s Evgeni, usually, and the fact that Sidney has said these things aloud, has spoken these words to Evgeni’s mother... That’s everything.

“I still think you’re too young, and I still think you should have waited at least a few years before getting married. But I wasn’t even willing to give you a chance to prove me wrong, and for that I am sorry, Zhenya. Truly. I hope you can forgive—”

Evgeni draws his mother into a hug before she can even finish her sentence.

“Of course I forgive you,” he whispers into her hair. “I’m sorry too, you know. It wasn’t fair of me not to tell you myself. I’m sorry you found out the way you did. You deserved better.”

Mama lets out a tearful laugh.

Velichkin is the one who broke the news to his parents, having been told by Coach before they left Finland, and Evgeni knows Mama was hurt that his GM beat him to it. In a perfect world, Evgeni would have told them himself.

In a perfect world, his parents would have been there during the ceremony.

Velichkin is no fool though, and Evgeni knows exactly what he was hoping to achieve when he spilled the beans about Evgeni’s marriage to Sidney.

He hates that it probably would have worked if not for Sidney’s single-mindedness and sheer determination for Evgeni and his parents to reconcile.

It was a smart move by Velichkin, Evgeni is forced to concede. In theory, anyway.

Evgeni can so easily imagine it: his parents begging him to stay when the time came, begging for Evgeni to choose his country and his family before his husband.

He wonders if his mother knows that there is only one choice he’d make. Velichkin certainly doesn’t; he still think there’s a chance Evgeni will stay beyond the season.

(He won’t.)

**

“Are you mad at me?” Sidney asks him later that night. He reaches for his phone on the night stand when it pings with an incoming text—from Sanja, Evgeni assumes when Sidney giggles from whatever he reads on the screen, because Sanja and Sidney have been texting back and forth ever since Worlds, but it’s been more frequent lately.

Evgeni has no idea what Sanja is doing texting his husband like this—late, and often. He wonders if he shouldn’t be worried about it even as he knows Sidney is as stupid for Evgeni as Evgeni is for him; Sidney would never betray him, not ever.

Sanja is another matter though, and Evgeni knows exactly how enchanting Sidney is, how easy to love.

His mind goes back to Sanja hugging Sidney goodbye just a couple of weeks ago, but he is finding it hard to focus on Sanja and whatever feelings he might have for Evgeni’s husband when Sidney settles back on the bed, gloriously naked in his arms. Sidney’s skin is flushed red from their earlier activities and his thighs are still wet with lube and come. Evgeni strokes a finger down Sidney’s spine to his crack, and Sidney shivers, a little oversensitive maybe, but he lets out a breathy moan at the touch and Evgeni can’t help but push at his rim a little more insistently, to see if he can’t tease that punched out moan from him again.

Three times in one night is excessive, but he thinks he could get it up again if he tried. “Why be mad?”

“Because I talked to your parents behind your back. I didn’t mean to keep it secret from you, it just, you were so wound up about them.”

Evgeni hums. “Not mad,” he says. “Little bit surprise, but you did good thing, Sidka.” He presses a kiss to Sidney’s temple, and says, in Russian, “I’m grateful. What you did...I’m sure it wasn’t easy, having them turn you away again and again.”

“Was easy,” Sidney counters. “Was for you, so easy to do.”

“You’re easy,” Evgeni says nonsensically, because otherwise he might do something stupid like cry about how great his husband is, and Sidney will definitely kick him out of bed.

(Evgeni is still holding out hope for round three.)

Sidney only shrugs and grins up at Evgeni. “Easy for you,” he says sweetly, and, well. Evgeni might even push for round four before the night is over. 

**

Because things were still strained between Evgeni and his parents during Russian Christmas, Sidney decides they should host a belated party just for the five of them—plus Gennady, who happens to be in town at the time.

There is good food and better presents, and Denis begs off early to see a girl Evgeni didn’t even know he was seeing but makes sure to tease him about until Denis is red in the face and tells Evgeni to go, “Fuck off!”

(Mama gasps, shocked, and scolds him soundly while Evgeni laughs and laughs.)

It’s a good party.

**

A few days later, a package arrives in the mail—it’s covered in American stamps.

“Is from Flower,” Sidney says. His eyes gleam with excitement when he tears open the package to reveal a photo album. It’s their wedding pictures.

They sit together on the couch and gently flick through the pages. Evgeni stares at the pictures in awe, smiling softly at the one of him and Sidney wearing each other’s flower crown and kissing for the first time as husbands; he’s never seen himself look so happy.

“I’d almost forgotten he was taking pictures. I can’t believe he put them in an album for us.” It’s obviously carefully made, each picture accompanied with a caption underneath, in both English and Russian.

The Russian is flawless. Evgeni wonders who he’d gotten to help him.

Sidney hums. “Flower and me talk on phone. He ask for address, say he want to send pictures in mail.”

“You knew about this?”

“Mhm. Want to keep surprise for you.” 

Evgeni tears his eyes away from the pictures and turns his head to look at Sidney instead. “Thank you,” he says. “This is the best surprise ever. I love it, love you.”

Sidney beams back at him. “Love you too.”

** 

In between games and travelling and trying to keep ahead in the standings, January bleeds into February, and suddenly Evgeni is standing in arrivals at the airport, waiting for Sidney’s family to arrive.

“What if they don’t like me?” he asks Sidney anxiously. He hefts the giant teddy bear he’s got holding in one arm and adjust its little red bow with the other. Evgeni is not above bribery to entice his new sister-in-law to like him.

“They like you.”

“But what if they don’t. What if they think I’m awful and try to convince you to move back to Canada?”

Sidney looks at him oddly. “We _are_ move back to Canada. After season.”

Evgeni’s heart flutters a little at that. They’ve finally sat down to talk about what to do once the season has ended, and even if Evgeni is well aware of all their carefully laid plans and all the contingencies—based on where Evgeni is drafted—he still feels his breath catch in his throat at Sidney’s easy acceptance.

As if any plan not involving Evgeni being right next to him is utterly inconceivable to him. “Mov _ing_ ,” Evgeni corrects absentmindedly. “But that would be so much worse, though. What if they hate me and then we move to Canada and then they can hate me while _in Canada_.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. He turns into Evgeni’s side and lifts an arm to snake around his neck. He tugs until Evgeni gives in and shifts the teddy bear to the side so he can lean in for a sweet kiss, to calm his nerves, and then another and another, until they’re standing in the middle of arrivals, making out, when a voice says in English, “That’s so gross!”

Evgeni startles. He draws back from Sidney and looks down at the little girl staring up at them.

She’s very little, and very blonde. She looks like Sidney.

“Hi!” She beams up at him. “I’m Taylor. I’m your sister.”

Evgeni blinks at her, but Sidney breaks out into a huge grin, falling to his knees and opening his arms for Taylor to leap into, which she does with much gusto.

“Taylor,” Sidney breathes into her hair. He’s hugging her close to him, and when he makes to stand, Taylor’s arms are wrapped around his neck firmly, and her feet cling to his waist as Sidney lifts her from the ground.

“I missed you so much, Sid,” she says, repeating the words over and over while Sidney nods and laughs.

“Sidney,” they hear, and Evgeni looks over to see what can only be Sidney’s parents making their way towards them. He recognises Troy and Trina from the pictures Sidney had brought with him to Russia.

Evgeni gives them a moment. He steps aside when Trina chokes out Sidney’s name again, and watches fondly as the Crosbys end up in something of a group hug, laughing and crying and saying how much they’ve missed each other, how much they love each other.

A moment later, Sidney reluctantly pulls away from them and reaches for Evgeni’s hand—Taylor is still clinging to his neck.

“Guys. I want you to meet my husband. I want you to meet Geno.”

There is a pause that last just a beat too long for Evgeni’s frayed nerves, but then Trina takes a hesitant step towards him. She’s warm and solid as she closes her arms around him for a gentle hug, and Evgeni is so startled he simply stands there awkwardly for a moment before snapping out of it, belatedly releasing Sidney’s hand so he can lift his arms to hug her back.

“Geno,” Trina says. “It’s good to meet you, finally.” There is something guarded in her eyes when she pulls back, something cautious, but her face is open, the smile on her lips genuine.

He’s more than a little surprised that Trina is the first to greet him; Evgeni has been under the impression that she was less than impressed that he’d married her son. He’s not about to question it, though.

“You too! So nice to meet.” Evgeni hasn’t been self-conscious about his English in years, but as he rushes to return Trina’s words in kind, he hears himself stumble over the sentence and turns red in embarrassment. He makes an aborted move as if to shake her hand in greeting, catches himself, and glances at Sidney for help, probably looking as panicked as he feels.

Evgeni has never been particularly good at hiding his emotions.

Sidney suppresses a smile, but takes pity on him and takes his hand again. “Dad, you remember Geno, don’t you?”

Troy smiles wryly. “He’s hard to forget,” he says, and Evgeni finds himself relaxing minutely as Troy shakes his free hand in greeting, his fingers forming a solid grip around Evgeni’s.

Sidney calls home often. He tries to chat with both Trina and Taylor as much as possible, but it’s Troy he usually ends up speaking to. Since they moved into their apartment, more and more, Sidney will put the phone on speaker to include Evgeni in those conversations.

“Good to meet you in person, son. You’re taller than you look on tape. How’s your balance on the ice? Are you still growing?”

“Troy!” Trina says sharply, but she sounds more fondly exasperated than upset, and Sidney and Taylor seem unconcerned, snickering at each other off to the side.

“How long?” Sidney asks her, hefting Taylor on his hip.

Taylor checks the Mickey Mouse watch she’s got strapped around her left wrist, studies it for a good few seconds before she declares, “Almost five minutes!”

Sidney grins. “Wow, Dad,” he says. “Five minutes without a hockey reference. You really made an effort this time.”

“I’m not that bad!” Troy protests with the air of one who makes such blatantly false statements often. Even Evgeni knows that’s a lie no one believes, and smiles in amusement at the Crosbys’ chatter as they walk out of the airport.

Meeting Sidney’s family wasn’t so bad after all.

**

Because they only have one, small guest room and Evgeni would rather die than let any of his husband’s family members sleep on the couch—Evgeni has fucked Sidney on that couch—the Crosbys are invited to stay at Gennady’s place for the duration of their visit.

Taylor though, who has yet to let Sidney out of her sight for more than a few minutes at a time, insists that she go with them once they’ve dropped off the Crosbys at the apartment and made sure they’ve settled in.

“Please, please, _please_ let me go with Sid and Geno,” she begs her parents. “I won’t be a bother at all, and I’ll keep curfew and everything!”

“Sid and Geno have to be at the rink tomorrow morning, baby. They won’t have time to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself!” Taylor protests with all the indignation of a seven-year-old.

“Actually, there was change in schedule this morning,” Evgeni begins before Taylor can work herself into a full temper tantrum. “Tomorrow is free day for us. If okay for you, she can stay with us.”

Taylor beams at him happily, and Sidney ducks his head, but he looks pleased, Evgeni thinks, and knows he is when he feels Sidney squeeze his hand in thanks.

“Please, Mom, _please_!”

Troy and Trina share a look, eyebrows moving in silent conversation the way Evgeni has seen his own parents do a thousand times before—the way he and Sidney have begun to communicate.

“Really, it’s no problem,” Sidney says. “We’d love to have her.”

Troy sighs, and after a nod from Trina, agrees. “You may go with them. But,” he says when Taylor immediately cheers in victory and gleefully turns to high five Sidney. “You behave yourself, and you listen to your brother. I don’t want to hear from Sid that you’ve been difficult, all right?”

Taylor nods fiercely. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

Sidney offers his parents a smile. “It’s fine, Dad. We can handle her for a night. We’ll drive back to meet you here tomorrow, okay? We can have a late breakfast in town.”

“Give you keys to car, too,” Evgeni says. Trina’s brows go up. “You’re giving us the car?”

“It’s a rental; we got it for you. We have our own car at home,” Sidney explains, and mercifully does not reveal that the vehicle in question isn’t so much a car as it is a tin box on four wheels.

Evgeni hates it so, so much.

“Sidney, no. That’s not necessary. You didn’t have to do that.”

Sidney makes a one-shouldered shrug. “You’re staying for ten days, and Geno and I are gonna be busy a lot. We didn’t want to strand you guys, and we figured it’d be easier than trying to navigate the public transport.”

“And avoid pirate taxis,” Evgeni adds sagely. He has to hold back a grin when Sidney bristles and whirls on him.

“One time, Geno!” he snaps. “One time I did that.”

Evgeni snickers. A few months back, before they left for Worlds, Sidney had chipped a tooth during a home game. After practise the next day, he had been told in no uncertain terms by the trainers to get his ass to the dentist as soon as possible.

Evgeni had been in a meeting with Velichkin at the time and had missed the whole ordeal, so Sidney had Konstantin look up the address of the nearest dentist, packed his gear together, and walked out of the arena to hail a taxi.

He’d paid what amounted to 160 dollars for a fourteen minute drive.

Trina hides her chuckle behind her hand, but Troy laughs loudly when Evgeni relays the story.

“You’re sure it’s not too much?” Trina asks.

Evgeni shakes his head firmly. “Have money for it,” he says. “Is no problem.”

“Really, Mom. I’d feel so much better knowing you have a way of getting around town without too much trouble.”

Trina smiles at Sidney. She steps close to him, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “You’ve grown,” she says. She looks surprised, as if she had thought he wouldn’t have changed even with the near five months it’s been since she last saw him in person.

“Mom.”

“It’s good,” Trina says. She glances at Evgeni, and her eyes are a little sad, maybe, a little resigned too, but she offers him a shaky smile before looking back at Sidney. “It’s good,” she says again.

too, but she offers him a shaky smile before looking back at Sidney. “It’s good,” she says again. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby.”

Evgeni realises she _hadn’t_ been very impressed with Sidney having married him, but she’s not rejecting him outright, and she’s obviously making an effort.

And that is all he needs. That’s all Evgeni can ask of her.

**

Evgeni likes kids well enough, but he doesn’t have a lot of experience with them. He’s curious as to what it will be like to take care of Sidney’s little sister for a night.

This is what Evgeni learns from Taylor Crosby: never, under _any_ circumstances, give a child sugar before bedtime.

And also, kids under the age of ten are _exhausting_.

“How the hell can someone so small have so much energy?” he breathes out as he crashes into bed that night. He hasn’t even brushed his teeth or removed his clothes, and now that he’s face down on the mattress, he’s finding it hard to gather the will to move.

Sidney laughs and strokes his hair, cuddling close to Evgeni and pressing butterfly kisses all over the side of his face.

Astonishingly, Evgeni feels his body stir with interest.

“I tell you not to let her have chocolate.”

Which is true, and it’s Evgeni’s fault for having been unable to resist Taylor’s puppy-dog look as Sidney had disappeared into the guest room to make the bed for her, but it’s not as if Evgeni was going to tell her anything but _yes_.

“I couldn’t just tell her no!” Evgeni protests, aghast. She’s his sister-in-law. He’d struck gold with the giant teddy bear, but he has to keep it going if he wants her to like him.

Sidney laughs again. “She like you without bribe,” he tells Evgeni. He pokes at Evgeni’s cheek insistently until Evgeni heaves a sigh and turns his face to look at him proper. Sidney smiles at him, all soft and warm, and Evgeni kind of wants to hug him tight and coo over how much he loves him.

Sidney must read the want in his face, because his smile widens into a grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners with it. He bends down to press his lips against Evgeni’s, humming against his mouth when Evgeni deepens the kiss and tugs gently at Sidney’s bottom lip with his teeth the way he knows he likes.

“Is that how it be with our kids?” Sidney wonders when he pulls back a little. “You never say no and kids always on sugar trip?”

“Sugar _rush_ , and yes,” Evgeni says immediately, because that is the absolute truth and he’s not even sorry about it.

“I like. Will be perfect,” Sidney whispers, like a secret, and well, Evgeni is not so tired after all.

**

They have to enlist Denis’ help in driving one of the cars as Sidney is still too young, and when they show up back at Gennady’s apartment the next morning with the rental and Konstantin’s shitty Ford, Trina visibly holds back from voicing her complaints, but Troy has no trouble expressing his disbelief.

“What the hell is that?”

Sidney shrugs and shares a glance with Evgeni. “We don’t want to spend money if we don’t really have to. This is fine for now. It gets us to where we need.”

“Is EU checked,” Evgeni rushes to add, and while Troy still eyes the car skeptically, he doesn’t say any more about it.

Not that Evgeni would blame him if he did. The car really is shit.

Sidney and Evgeni drop off Denis in the city to meet his girlfriend, before guiding the Crosbys to a restaurant that offers a breakfast menu Sidney loves to indulge in and forces Evgeni to tag along to at least once a month.

The staff knows them by name.

Taylor, Evgeni discovers, has the same sweet tooth as her brother—as does Troy. 

Trina makes a token effort of pointing out the healthier options on the menu, but she doesn’t seem too bothered by her husband and children salivating over bilinis covered in caramelised honey.

Evgeni spends most of breakfast answering Troy’s questions about his hockey and his workout regime, and naming things in Russian for Taylor when she tugs on his sleeve and points at the table, the staff, her plate, her fork, and so on.

He’s not so distracted that he misses the looks Sidney keeps sneaking him, his eyes burning with the kind of emotion that means Evgeni is going to get thoroughly laid once they’re back home.

He has to lean in to steal a quick kiss the next time he meets Sidney’s heavy gaze, and across the table, Taylor says, “Gross!” and covers her eyes, but Troy and Trina eye them knowingly, and even though it’s a little embarrassing that they probably know _exactly_ what they’re planning on doing once they’re alone again—especially because these are Sidney’s _parents—_ Evgeni has to take a second to wonder if he’s ever felt this lazy kind of happiness before.

(He hasn’t.)

**

Sidney and Evgeni only have the one day off, and while they’re lucky enough that that their next three games are all at home, they don’t actually get to spend all that much time with the Crosbys.

They’re kept plenty busy with games and practices, but they try to meet Sidney’s family for dinner most days, and they introduce them to Mama and Papa once Sidney assures his parents that _of course_ they are invited to all the games.

Papa, who is still a little tentative with them for all that he and Evgeni have put their differences aside, takes to Troy immediately, and is predictably putty in little Taylor Crosby’s palm the second she beams at him and completely butchers an enthusiastic, “Hello! I’m Taylor Crosby!” in Russian.

The night before the Crosbys leave, Mama invites them all over to the house, and they spend an evening gorging themselves on Mama’s food—Evgeni does not, in fact, reveal to Trina that Sidney prefers Mama’s cooking. The conversation flows easily despite the language barrier, and they have lively discussions in English and Russian with Sidney and Evgeni translating as fast as they can.

Papa and Troy drag Sidney into a conversation about European rink sizes and how to better utilise the boards, and Evgeni leaves them to it, smiling at the couch where Taylor is fast sleep from all the food and the excitement, before slipping into the kitchen to help Mama and Trina with the dishes.

“Such a good boy,” Mama coos at him when he grabs a dish towel and starts rinsing, and while it was in Russian, Trina smiles, as if she knows exactly what Mama had said.

“You love my son very much, don’t you?” Trina asks him once Mama has excused herself for a bathroom break.

Evgeni startles. He looks over at Trina to find her already staring at him. “Yes,” he says. “More than anything.”

Trina makes a humming noise. She’s quiet for a moment, washing the glass in her hand expertly. Evgeni shifts on his feet. He feels tense and awkward.

Trina glances over at him again, smiling when she sees the way he’s fiddling with the cloth in his hand. She chuckles. “I didn’t think I would like you,” she reveals, and that’s no secret, because Evgeni has known that she refused to sign the paper that would allow Sidney to become his husband.

As if reading his mind, she says, “When Troy signed the consent form, I wouldn’t speak to him for a week. I was furious that he would allow our son to marry some boy I’d never met.” She gets an apologetic look on her face, shrugging her shoulders. “I’d heard about you for so long, ever since you called Sidney that first time. Do you remember?”

Evgeni smiles hesitantly. Of course he remembers. It was the start of it all.

“I think Sidney was smitten even then. He’d never seen you, but he kept talking about this boy who’d called him all the way from Russia just to say he was good at hockey. I used to laugh at the way he’d spend hours agonising over the emails he wrote you. ‘It has to be perfect, Mom,’ he’d say. ‘I want him to like me.’”

Evgeni feels his smile grow at that. He hadn’t known Sidney had worried, but he can picture it so easily. “I want him like me too. Spend so much time, learning English for him.”

“Yes,” Trina agrees. She smiles again, but it’s not a happy smile, and when she gently places the glass in her hand on the kitchen bench for Evgeni to dry, she says, “He’s my son and I love him, but I can’t protect him from a broken heart. That’s your job now, because he chose you, he gave his heart to you, so take care of it.”

“I will,” Evgeni swears, quiet but fierce.

Trina looks at him intently. She reaches out and squeezes his arm, a comforting gesture he’s seen her do for Sidney. “You’re a good boy, Geno.”

Evgeni swallows and watches her walk out of the kitchen. Some things, he thinks, don’t really need a translation.

**

Things settle back into the rhythm of games and daily life once the Crosbys go back to Canada. Sidney and Evgeni go through a stretch of days where it feels as if they see more of a hotel room than the inside of their own apartment.

Their schedule is so strenuous all they do is train, eat, play games, and sleep when they can. They don’t even have sex for more than a week, not even so much as a handjob—a true travesty, and which is probably the biggest reason why Evgeni stops the car to pick up the puppy that’s been abandoned on the side of the road as he’s making his way home from an emergency grocery run.

That and the sleep deprivation.

And besides, it’s not as if he could just leave him there. It’s pouring down outside.

Sidney makes a valiant effort in trying to convince Evgeni that keeping a fifty kilo French Mastiff puppy is a “ _Fantastically_ bad idea, Geno! We don’t have the time. And besides, just look at him! He’s huge now. My neighbours used to have a dog like this. He’s gonna be close to seventy kilos as a grown dog!”

But then Sidney follows his own instructions, looks the puppy in the eyes, and promptly melts on the spot.

Evgeni coos at the dog in victory. “His name Jeffrey,” he informs Sidney, because if there was ever a last chance of Sidney not letting him keep the dog, it vanishes once the dog has a name to go with its adorable face.

Sidney gives a startled laugh, and the dog barks as if to join in his amusement. “Jeffrey? You named the dog Jeffrey?”

“Jeffrey is good name! Puppy is totally name Jeffrey!”

Sidney laughs again. He gets down on his knees next to Evgeni and Jeffrey, reaching out to give the puppy long, petting strokes along his side.

Jeffrey goes boneless, tail wagging hard against the floor. Sidney smiles at the sight. “This is such a bad idea. What will we even do when we’re out of town?”

“Mama and Papa watch him. Have Denis walk puppy, pick up poop.”

Sidney snorts, and Evgeni grins, tongue poking out of his mouth in a poor imitation of Jeffrey’s happy pants.

“We’ll need to take him to the vet. _And_ make sure he isn’t just lost. He might not wear a collar, but someone could be looking for him.”

“If puppy lost and owner look, we give him back.”

Sidney eyes him knowingly. “Oh, Geno,” he sighs out, and Evgeni shrugs.

If Jeffrey has an owner out there looking for him, he absolutely will give the puppy back. It’ll break his heart. But he’ll do it. 

**

The next day, they bring Jeffrey to the veterinarian to make sure he’s healthy and doesn’t have any diseases. They print up flyers with Jeffrey’s face and put them up all over town. Two weeks later, no one has come to claim him.

Sidney says, “I guess he belong to us then. We should get collar. He family dog now. Family dog should have collar.”

Evgeni is so happy he kisses his husband breathless, until Jeffrey gets between them determinedly, upset that no one is paying him attention.

Evgeni blinks as Sidney falls to his knees and showers Jeffrey with kisses and pats. He eyes Jeffrey suspiciously. “This is how it’s gonna be, then?”

Jeffrey barks smugly.

**

Metallurg goes into the playoffs as the first seed in their division, largely on the back of Sidney’s campaign and the lethal sniper Evgeni has proven to be on the power play.

There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Sidney will win League MVP this year—he won the scoring race with a two-point lead, and the feat is so unprecedented that it’s making news even across the Atlantic. Or so Barry and Brisson would have them believe.

Coach is actually pleased for once. He lets everyone know by telling them to make sure it doesn’t go to their heads. “Especially you,” he says, glaring at Evgeni during a team meeting, and really, maybe Evgeni did get a little cocky and try some ill-advised plays in their last game, but honestly, there is no need for Coach to single him out.

“Listen to Coach,” Sidney says primly when Evgeni complains to him about it, but then soothes the sting of his words by letting Evgeni grope him in the utility room near Coach’s office, so Evgeni doesn’t really take his advice to heart.

Metallurg meets Neftekhimik Nizhnekamsk in the first round, and it quickly becomes apparent that playoff hockey is like nothing Evgeni has ever experienced before. Not even the international tournaments he’s been a part of have been so gruelling or hard fought.

It’s as if there is no space out there suddenly, every inch of ice a battle to be won, every game a war of attrition.

It takes them five games, but they manage to claw their way past Neftekhimik, though not without their losses.

“I’m out,” Konstantin tells them after the last game. His right arm is in a sling and he’s not even bothering to hide his tears. “Clavicle fracture. Doctors say it looks like I’ll need surgery to realign the collarbone. I’ll be out for months.”

“Shit,” Evgeni says, and Sidney’s mouth sets into a grim line.

For a brief, selfish moment, Evgeni wonders who the hell is going to play on their line now.

Losing Konstantin proves a bigger hit than expected when it turns out no one else can manufacture the same kind of chemistry with both Sidney _and_ Evgeni, and they end up with a revolving door of wingers to replace him as a linemate.

No one lasts much longer than a game, and some not even more than a handful of shifts before Coach is barking at them to get the hell off the ice, but still Metallurg breezes through the second round to reach the championship final against Avangard Omsk.

Sanja flies in for the occasion.

“Are you punishing yourself?” Evgeni asks him when he picks up him up at the airport. 

Dynamo Moscow got swept in the first round, and Evgeni knows himself well enough to know that if it had been him, he would have been on the first plane out of the country, going south to a beach somewhere—a place he could lick his wounds in peace and forget about his failures for a few days.

He certainly wouldn’t be showing up to a final he wasn’t even a part of.

Sanja shrugs. “Sidka says running away doesn’t solve anything. Besides, you went and got a puppy. It’s only right that he knows his uncle Sanja.”

Evgeni rolls his eyes. “Yes, because Sidka is whose advice you should be following in this scenario.” His husband is a glutton for punishment; he is absolutely the kind of person to submerge himself in more hockey instead of getting away from it after a loss.

Sanja shrugs again. “I didn’t feel like being alone, and he said it was okay for me to come stay with you. Oh my god!” he exclaims when they reach the parking lot and Evgeni comes to a stop before the tin box. “The car is still running?” Sanja stares at the old Ford, completely delighted. “This is amazing. I thought you said you were buying another?”

“Shut up,” Evgeni grumbles, because he honestly fears for his life every time he sits down behind the wheel. He’s tried bringing up the need for a functional car, but Sidney is oddly attached to the Ford; he keeps insisting it works just fine—possibly because Sidney isn’t the one who has to deal with the slack brakes or the steering wheel that sometimes locks on the left side.

The next car Evgeni gets is going to be a brand new sports car, sleek and beautiful, and Sidney will just have to deal.

**

In between all the games, Sidney’s family visiting, getting Jeffrey, and then the playoffs, Evgeni had forgotten entirely about Sanja’s weird relationship with Sidney.

They text frequently, and sometimes talk on the phone, and Evgeni knows that Sidney has grown to consider Sanja as something of an older brother the longer their friendship has gone on.

Sanja, though, feels differently, although Evgeni is sure Sidney doesn’t realise.

Evgeni doesn’t know when it really started, and he knows Sanja would never act on it, but somewhere along the way, Sanja’s harmless flirting with Sidney became less playful and more deliberate.

He doesn’t blame Sanja for his crush on his husband—Sidney is smart and funny and beautiful, and his hockey is just a little bit addictive. He’s special in a way even non-hockey people can tell is different. Sidney is a presence. People notice him wherever he goes.

Sanja had made a point of flirting with Sidney even before he found out Sidney and Evgeni were a couple, mostly to get under Evgeni’s skin, he thinks, because Sanja has known from the start that Evgeni was hopelessly in love with Sidney.

But the flirting was always just play.

Three days into Sanja’s visit, though, it doesn’t seem like just play anymore. It feels just a little more serious now, even as Evgeni knows the last thing Sanja wants is to get between his marriage to Sidney; Sanja had stood witness at their wedding, after all.

“You gonna be okay?” Evgeni asks him quietly after dinner, when it’s just the two of them lounging on the couch in front of the TV and Sidney is safely out of earshot in the kitchen; he is murmuring sweet words to Jeffrey and washing the dishes because Evgeni can never do it quite to his satisfaction.

The next place they get, Evgeni is going to make sure there’s a dishwasher so he doesn’t have to feel guilty about Sidney doing the dishes all the time or annoyed when he re-does the ones Evgeni has already cleaned because Evgeni didn’t do it right somehow.

Marriage, Evgeni is beginning to learn, is a lot about compromising and letting one’s significant other act out their crazy from time to time—which is probably why Sidney never says anything about Evgeni’s compulsive need to put sour cream on everything.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Sanja.”

Sanja sighs. He glances over the back of the couch towards the kitchen.

They can hear the faint sound of Sidney humming. Some American country song that probably sounds a lot better on-pitch and without the accompanying barks.

“It’s stupid, okay? I don’t even know how it happened.”

“It’s not stupid,” Evgeni says quietly. He thinks he’d be angry, or jealous, maybe, if it wasn’t for the fact that he _knows_ Sidney has never considered Sanja as more than a friend.

Evgeni is absolutely convinced Sidney doesn’t even know that Sanja has feelings for him.

“It’s just a stupid crush. I doesn’t mean anything, okay? I’ll get over it.”

“I know.”

Sanja shifts in his seat. He looks unusually subdued. “You know I would never, right?”

Never act on it, never tell Sidney, never hurt Evgeni like that.

Evgeni knows. Sanja is a good friend. He can be an ass sometimes, but he’s never been anything but a good friend.

“I wouldn’t—”

“I know, Sanja,” he says again. He clamps a hand on Sanja’s shoulder before tugging him into a firm side hug. “I get it, you know. He’s...” Evgeni trails off, not sure how to put into words the wonder that is Sidney.

Sidney is particular and sometimes selfish in a way he doesn’t even realise because what he needs doesn’t always line up with what he wants—but it’s what allows him to keep sense of his thoughts and many compulsions. He can drive Evgeni crazy on the best of days; there are times when Sidney needs things to be just so and he’s not very considerate of how that might inconvenience others.

But he’s also kind and loyal and sweet and Evgeni loves him so fucking much, flaws and all. 

It feels as if he can barely breathe some days for how much he loves Sidney, how much he needs him in his life.

He doesn’t need to say any of that, though, because Sanja already knows—and that is the problem in the first place.

“Yeah,” Sanja breathes out quietly. He rests his head against Evgeni’s. “Yeah.”

**

Metallurg ends up losing the final round, three games to two.

Evgeni is the playoff point leader, ahead of even Sidney, but it’s a poor consolation in the face of a lost championship.

No one is more disappointed than Coach, though.

The raw despair on his face will probably stay with Evgeni for the rest of his life. 

The team doesn’t stick around to watch Omsk receive the trophy, and no one calls them back on the ice for an MVP award, so Evgeni suspects it was given to the Omsk goalie.

A worthy recipient, though it could have gone to Maracle despite the loss, Evgeni thinks loyally. Their goalie had given them every chance to stay in it.

Coach is silent in the locker room, and no one stands to make a speech. In the end, Boucher is the one to tell them, “Go home. Be proud of what you did this season. We’ll clean out the lockers in a couple of days.”

Losing at home is a small comfort, if only for the way his family is there to shower them in hugs and promises of how well they played, and Sanja is at hand to drive them back to the apartment where Jeffrey is waiting for them eagerly.

Sanja doesn’t even make his usual comments about the car.

“We’ll win the next one,” Sidney whispers in English when they’re curled together in bed that night. He looks as heart sick as Evgeni feels. “The next championship we play together, we’ll win.”

They might never play a championship together again, Evgeni thinks.

Evgeni will be in the NHL next season, and if not, he’ll be in the minors of the team that drafts him, and Sidney is still a year away from his own draft. There is no knowing where they’ll end up. There is no guarantee they will end up on the same team as much as they dream of that happening.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He doesn’t want to add to Sidney’s hurt.

Instead he says, “Next time,” and tries not to think about how that is starting to feel like a too familiar phrase.

**

On the day they clean out their lockers, Evgeni is stopped by Velichkin. “Zhenya, do you have a minute?”

Evgeni holds back a sigh. He bends to give Sidney a perfunctory kiss, urges him gently in the direction of the locker rooms, and says, “Go on. I’ll be there soon,” before turning to look at his GM.

Velichkin’s face is carefully blank. It usually is whenever he sees the evidence of Sidney and Evgeni’s relationship.

“Of course. Was there something you needed?”

“Come. We’ll talk in my office.”

Evgeni does sigh then, but follows dutifully. He’s been called in to Velichkin’s office so many times he’s convinced he could find his way there with his eyes closed now.

“I want to congratulate you on your season, Zhenya,” Velichkin says as he sits down behind his desk. He gestures to one of the chairs he keeps available for guests.

Evgeni sits, even if he would prefer to stand.

“Truly, what you did was remarkable. We’re all very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Evgeni says. He makes sure to keep his face open, his voice pleased but not too effusive. Dealing with Velichkin is a like a game of chess. The second he lets his guard down, he’s checkmate. The trick, Evgeni has discovered, is to make sure Velichkin knows he is thankful to him, for the opportunity he has given Evgeni this year, but not so greatful that Evgeni would blindly follow his GM’s suggestions.

He’s been very careful to make sure Velichkin has understood that he can’t make demands of Evgeni that he has no right to.

Velichkin eyes him for a moment. “You’re NHL draft eligible this year,” he says, a statement. “Have you given thought to which team you’d like to play for?”

“I’d be happy with any team,” Evgeni says honestly.

“Yes. Quite so.” Velichkin leans back in his seat. “There have been rumours of a possible lockout.”

Evgeni goes still, and Velichkin’s eyes gleam with victory. “A lockout?”

“A lockout,” Velichkin confirms. “Of course, I am not supposed to speak of it, and it is only a rumour still, but it seems likely. You know how the Americans are. They can never agree on anything.”

As opposed to their own people, Evgeni thinks, who are more often than not told what to do, what to think. He knows better than to say that aloud, so he says nothing.

“You are of course welcome to play for Metallurg again next season should a lockout become actuality. You’re a product of Magnitogorsk, after all. And Sidney too. We would love to have you both back. I have asked the legal department to draw up a contract for you just in case. You will, of course, be compensated accordingly.”

It takes all Evgeni has not to make a face at Velichkin’s slick words.

Sidney has more than made his mark on the Superleague this year, enough that Velichkin and Metallurg have reaped the benefits of his success—and Evgeni’s too—for all its worth.

Sidney never made it a secret that he only meant to stay for the season, but he is Evgeni’s husband now, and if Evgeni stays, if Velichkin can convince him...

 _You can’t have him_ , Evgeni thinks fiercely. Sidney is meant for the NHL and the best hockey in the world. _Evgeni_ is meant for the best hockey in the world. They have already made their plans.

“You will consider it, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Evgeni says, and what he means is _no._ “Metallurg is very special to me. To us both. Sidney has enjoyed his time here very much.”

Velichkin smiles slyly, and all Evgeni can think is, _I hate you_.

He hasn’t told Sidney, is trying to keep him away from Velichkin as much as possible, but when they returned from Helsinki on their own, they had unintentionally spoiled Velichkin’s plans. Evgeni knows from a contact in his GM’s office that Velichkin had been planning to collect and keep Evgeni’s passport in custody when he arrived with the rest of Team Russia.

The plan had been to fabricate a story about Evgeni’s visa and keep the passport under the pretense of sorting things out, the side effect, of course, being that Evgeni would have been unable to travel outside of Russia without his GM’s say so.

Much less to Canada.

Evgeni is wary of any information that comes out of Velichkin’s office, but he trusts his source on this. He is furious but unsurprised.

He’s always known what kind of man Velichkin is.

**

“What Velichkin want?” Sidney asks him when Evgeni finds him in the locker room. He’s already cleaned out his gear and has started in on Evgeni’s.

Evgeni kisses him in thanks before gently moving him to the side so he can take over. Sidney’s packing is a long and detailed process; Evgeni prefers to just bundle everything together and chuck it into his bag.

“Offered a new contract for next season. For us both.”

Sidney’s brows go up. “Why? You play in NHL next season.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Evgeni says with a pointed glance around the locker room.

Sidney tilts his head, curious, but lets it go.

There are backslaps all around as they say goodbye to their teammates, and most of them wish Evgeni good luck in the draft. Even Osipov.

“You’ll go first or second, you mark my words,” he says, and Evgeni is so stunned he can only gape at him while Sidney snickers and forces Osipov into a hug.

Osipov pats his head and mostly endures it with good grace. They’ve had their differences, especially Osipov and Evgeni, but he’s grown to be somewhat fond of Sidney because that is the effect Sidney has on people.

Evgeni will never be his fan, but he’ll forgive Osipov his assholery for that alone. Anyone who likes his husband must have _some_ redeeming quality.

“So, what Velichkin say?” Sidney asks once they’re back home.

Evgeni sighs. He’s deliberately kept Sidney away from the power struggle that’s been going on between Velichkin and Evgeni ever since he made the team, but he can’t protect him from this, and he’s forced to come clean now.

Sidney is not impressed. “You shouldn’t have kept this from me!” he yells at Evgeni, too furious to remember his Russian.

And this is what they do the rare times that they fight: Evgeni yells in Russian, and Sidney in English, both too worked up and angry to remember anything but their respective languages.

“I didn’t want you mixed up in this. Velichkin is a snake. I kept you in the dark to protect you.”

“You had no right. I’m your husband. We’re supposed to tell each other things like this.” Sidney looks so hurt Evgeni feels his fingers itch for want of pulling him close.

“It’s not—You have to—” Evgeni sighs, frustrated. He rakes a hand through his hair, tugging at a few strands anxiously. “Please understand. Velichkin _never_ says what he actually means. He plays verbal games all the time.”

“That’s not—”

“He’ll trick you into thinking he’s your friend,” Evgeni says harshly, cutting Sidney off. “He’ll make you think you owe him something, that you can’t tell him no. That’s what he does, Sidka. He’s dangerous. He’ll trap you with words and pretty promises, and then you are theirs, and you belong to the club in a way you can’t just walk away from.”

Sidney stares at him, mouth open in disbelief. “That doesn’t happen in real life. People don’t _do_ that!”

“Like kids didn’t try to maim you on the ice? Like parents weren’t shouting about how you deserved to die? How they were going to snap your neck?”

Sidney blanches and takes an involuntary step back. “Is not the same,” he whispers in Russian.

Evgeni hates this conversation, hates that he has to say these things to his husband, but he _needs_ Sidney to understand. “It _is_ the same,” he tells him. “There are sick people in this world, and they’ll hurt you if given the chance. Those kids and those parents were just more blatant about it, they didn’t hide it. That’s not how it works here.” Evgeni reaches for Sidney hesitantly, holding back a sigh of relief when Sidney allows him to pull him into his arms.

“They know to hide behind false intentions, to lure you in until you’re too deep to get out again.” He presses a kiss to Sidney’s temple. “You can’t trust Velichkin to have your best interest at heart.”

Sidney glances up at him. His pretty eyes are clouded with worry. “But what if he is right? What if NHL have lockout? What we do?”

Evgeni does sigh then. He tightens his hold on Sidney. “Then I’ll play in the minors for whatever team drafts me, or we’ll find a junior league for you to play in. Whatever happens, we’ll work it out?”

“Together?” Sidney asks.

Evgeni closes his eyes and rests his head against Sidney’s. “Together,” he agrees. The two of them, together.

No matter what. 

**

The day before they leave Russia, Evgeni slaps a bundle of bills into Konstantin’s hand, tells him to give it to his cousin, and takes a steel baseball bat to the Ford.

Sidney shakes his head but lets him have his fun.

Evgeni takes a picture of the wreck when he’s done and emails it to Sanja.

Sanja calls him up immediately and spends a good ten minutes laughing in Evgeni’s ear. Evgeni grins, satisfied. 

**

His parents drive them to the airport.

Mama refuses to step inside the building, and cries when they say goodbye. She understands why they are leaving, she tells them, but she doesn’t have to like it.

“I’m losing two sons instead of one.”

Sidney freezes, and then throws himself at her, hugging her fiercely. 

Evgeni has to turn away so he doesn’t end up bawling like a baby. He meets Papa’s eyes, and offers him a tearful smile. “You’ll come over for the draft, right?”

Papa nods. “We’ll be there. Just send us the details when it’s time.” He pulls Evgeni to him, clapping him on the back and sniffling into his shoulder. “You take care of yourself. Take care of Sidka. Be a good man and a good husband.”

“I will,” Evgeni whispers, because he’s learnt from the best and his father has never been anything but a good man and a good husband to his mother.

“Call when you get there, okay? You’re sure you have all your affairs in order? All your things, the apartment?”

Evgeni nods. “We’ve packed everything into boxes. Gennady is taking care of it. He’ll ship the things we’re keeping once we’re settled, and donate the stuff we’re giving away.”

He bends to scratch at Jeffrey’s ear. “And this little one will meet us on the other side.” Jeffrey barks and slobbers all over his hand.

Mama rolls her eyes fondly. “I half expected you’d ask to let him stay with us.” 

Evgeni shifts on his feet guiltily. “I was planning on it,” he admits. “But Sidka said I got him, so he’s my responsibility.”

Besides, Sidney likes to complain a lot about how Evgeni just came home one day with a fifty kilo puppy without even consulting him, but Sidney and Jeffrey adore each other, and Evgeni knows he would have to pry the dog from his hands over Sidney’s dead, cold body.

“Your poor parents,” says Papa, grinning at Sidney. “Do they even know you’re bringing home a giant of a dog.”

Sidney laughs and nods. “Dad is little bit not happy, but knows is only for couple of weeks before we get keys for new house. Taylor is excite.”

“The first of May, right?” Mama asks. “Seems a bit of a risk to buy a house without having seen it in person. Are you nervous?”

“Troy and Trina went to a showing for us, and they seemed happy with it. Besides, you’ve seen the pictures. The place looks amazing. The docks alone!”

“Can get boat,” Sidney says dreamily. “Maybe two.”

“A rowboat and a speed boat,” Evgeni agrees.

Sidney wrinkles his nose. “Not too big,” he says, because he has no appreciation for speed and motors.

Evgeni grins. He’s pretty sure he’ll be able to make Sidney cave if he just wheedles him long enough.

**

Jeffrey takes to Canada with far more vigour and enthusiasm than Evgeni does. 

Evgeni suspects a lot of it is due to Taylor, who spoils him shamelessly, and the leftovers Trina keeps sneaking him when she thinks no one is looking.

“He’s getting fat, Trina. He’s already big enough. You need to stop feeding him the leftovers,” Troy says. “It’s not good for him.”

“Oh, pooh. He’s perfectly normal sized for his breed,” she protests, but no one can deny that Jeffrey starts losing weight once Sidney and Evgeni move out of the Crosbys’ place and into their own house.

Evgeni breathes a little easier in their own space, and Sidney is enough to distract him most days, but he still misses his family something fierce. He spends an inordinate amount of money on international calls and texts.

Sidney twitches at the sight of his phone bills, but leaves him be. This is the first time Evgeni has moved away from his family, and Sidney has already done it twice; he knows what Evgeni is going through.

“I’m here if you need me, okay?” he whispers against Evgeni’s hair when Evgeni feels particularly sad, and Evgeni loves him extra much those days.

In June, Sidney surprises him with playoff tickets.

“I maybe threw my name around a little,” Sidney admits at Evgeni’s wide-eyed look. “They’re for game seven, in Tampa. You missed the one with Sanja and the other prospects, so I thought we could catch this game on our own. We’d have to leave tomorrow morning if you’re up for it.” Sidney smiles at him hopefully. “We could spend a few days down there, by the beach. Like a honeymoon, you know? Dad said they’d take Jeffrey, so we don’t have to worry—”

Evgeni kisses him hard.

The NHL had sent him an invite for game two—all the top ten prospects had been invited—but they had been in the middle of their move, and Evgeni hadn’t felt like spending a few days away from Sidney when he was still feeling so raw about missing his family.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he whispers in Russian.

“By being you,” Sidney says sweetly, and not even Jeffrey’s whining is enough to distract them then.

**

They get the VIP treatment the second they land in Tampa. 

Sidney gets most of the attention, which comes as no surprise, but Evgeni receives his fair share of it.

“We’ve followed your career for a few years now,” some Tampa executive tells him when they arrive at the arena. “We were very impressed by your season in Metallurg. You’re a surprising presence on the power play. And you too, of course, Sidney,” the man says smoothly.

Sidney shrugs. “Geno made it easy for me. He’s so good out there.” Evgeni grins and ducks his head, pleased.

They’re introduced to Tampa’s head coach, and Evgeni immediately takes a disliking to him—he reminds him a lot of Velichkin, all slick and sharp edges. It’s obvious the guy resents having to make nice with a couple of teenagers who hasn’t even made it to the show yet.

Evgeni conveniently forgets most of his English and lets Sidney do the brunt of the talking. Not that Tortorella cares. He barely spares Evgeni a glance the entire time.

A few hours before the game, the execs finally take their leave and abandon Sidney and Evgeni to the tender mercy of a poor intern who is instructed to give them a tour of the arena.

When they reach the locker rooms, Evgeni takes pity on the boy and saves him from Sidney’s incessant questions about the history of the place and asks if there’s an equipment room nearby, someplace they could maybe borrow skates to test the ice.

“Yes!” the boy says, relieved. He is nodding his head wildly. “Follow me, please. Dana will sort you out.”

Dana Heinze is a short man with a round belly and the air of one who is always stressed and never sleeps. There’s a warm smile on his face despite his harried look, and Evgeni takes to him immediately. He is the Lightning’s assistant equipment manager, and is more than happy to let them borrow skates.

“I’ve seen clips of your games,” he tells them, looking a little sheepish. “That spin-o-rama of yours is a thing of beauty.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Sidney sighs, looking appropriately jealous as he nudges Evgeni’s side. “I don’t have the artistry for it, but Geno is absolutely amazing. You should see him do a half turn; it’s even better than the full spin-o-rama.”

Dana looks at Evgeni eagerly. “Will you show me?”

Evgeni maybe shows off a little more than necessary, but it’s absolutely worth it for the gobsmacked look on Coach Tortorella’s face when the Lightning takes the ice for a last practice before puck drop.

Later, as they’re finding their seats for the game—in the stands rather than the VIP box, because Sidney insisted on an authentic experience—Evgeni realises he’s been so busy and had so much fun he’s forgotten to miss home today.

He throws an arm around Sidney’s shoulder and leans over to give him a long, hard kiss.

Sidney’s lids flutter wildly when they break apart, panting against Evgeni’s mouth. “What was that for?” he wonders.

Evgeni shakes his head. “Just because,” he says, and threads the fingers of his free hand around Sidney’s.

They hold hands through most of the game.

** 

The Lightning win game seven. Evgeni wasn’t invested in either team, but he has to admit it’s cool to see the way the fans explode with noise as they realise Tampa has won at home ice.

He doesn’t particularly care for Tortorella’s smug face when it shows up on the jumbotron, but he catches sight of Dana Heinze and can’t help but smile at his obvious happiness.

No one ever really thinks about the staff and crew that make it possible for the players to focus on the game with as little trouble as possible, and Dana had been good to them.

“He deserve,” Evgeni says, pointing out Dana on the screen to Sidney.

Sidney nods agreeably, and when he turns to look at Evgeni, his eyes are burning with emotion. “That’s gonna be us one day, Geno. I know it.”

It feels a little bit like a jinx to say aloud, and Evgeni knows that Sidney is usually the first one to shush anyone who starts making bold predictions, but he can’t help but grin excitedly at Sidney’s words, feels the weight of them settle somewhere inside of his ribs—that same place where he stores his dreams of the future and all of his promises of _someday_.

**

They spend ten glorious days in Tampa, enjoying the beach and each other, and it’s maybe not the honeymoon Evgeni would have expected, but it’s perfect all the same.

He even manages to drag Sidney along to a jewellery store so he can finally, _finally_ get him the wedding ring he’s been wanting to buy since they married. It’s not quite as sparkly as he would have liked, but Sidney thinks Evgeni tends to lean towards “Too much bling, Geno,” so he’s pretty satisfied with having managed to negotiate at least one diamond among the gold design of the ring.

The important thing is that they finally have matching rings.

“Only six months too late,” Sanja comments over the phone, and Evgeni promptly hangs up. 

He wears his own wedding ring proudly, but he’d half expected Sidney not to really bother with his. Not because he doesn’t care, but because Sidney really isn’t a ring person. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, when Sidney seems unable to leave his ring alone. He’s constantly playing with it, worrying the band around his finger and faithfully taking it off to do dishes because he doesn’t want it to get scraped up.

Evgeni finds it adorable, even if he despairs of Sidney still doing the dishes by hand despite their perfectly functional dishwasher.

But, _compromise_ , he thinks, and lets it go.

** 

“You’ve gotten fat, Zhenya,” is the first thing Sanja tells him when they see each other for the combine—three days before the draft—and Evgeni does not appreciate the way Sidney reaches out to pat at his stomach as if to check out this assessment.

“He look good though,” Sidney says loyally, and Evgeni is pretty sure his husband is telling him he could stand to lose some weight, but that still deserves a kiss.

“Okay, okay,” Sanja laughs. “Enough of that. Have you seen your family yet?”

“Yeah. They flew in earlier today; we just had dinner with them. They’re sleeping off the jetlag now. Sidka will meet up with them tomorrow when we do the fitness testing.”

“You ready for it? A bad performance could affect our ranking.”

Which Evgeni knows, but he’d have to have catastrophic results to lose his draft eligibility, so he’s not particularly worried. As long as he’s drafted, Evgeni doesn’t care which pick he’ll be.

Everyone says he’ll either go first or second, though, and Sidney keeps saying that Washington would be stupid not to take him first even if it means missing out on Sanja.

“You’re better,” he’d told Evgeni the night before. “Don’t tell Alex I said that.”

He loves Sidney for believing in him, but Evgeni won’t breathe easy until after the draft; where he ends up won’t just affect him, but Sidney too.

The weight of that knowledge feels enormous.

** 

The fitness test goes well, and no one says anything about Evgeni being too fat so Sanja can go choke on a rock—which is an insult Evgeni is not ashamed to admit he’s learned from Taylor.

“ _You_ choke on a rock,” Sanja says when Evgeni tells him this.

After the testing, when they’ve showered and dressed in stuffy suits, they are invited to talk with representatives from all the teams. Evgeni is grateful for his English as he’s greeted by team after team, but he misses having Sidney next to him.

Sidney always knows what to say in these kinds of situations.

(Evgeni can’t help but look for the subtext, the hidden intentions behind words and pretty promises. He can’t help but think of Velichkin.)

“We understand that you’re married,” an executive from the Rangers say. “To Sidney Crosby, no less.”

Evgeni stiffens. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge while they were still in Russia—Barry and Brisson had worked hard to keep it under wraps—but Evgeni had been forced to disclose his civilian status when he registered for the combine.

Now, there is not a team in the NHL that doesn’t know he and Sidney are married. “How did that come about?”

Evgeni looks at the curious looks from the men across the table and forces himself to relax. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, as if to say, “I don’t know,” and keeps his mouth shut.

He desperately wants to make a good impression on these people, but he doesn’t owe them this part of him.

Sidney is his husband, and that is no one’s business but his own.

“How do you feel about New York?” someone asks when it’s clear that Evgeni isn’t going to answer, and they don’t bring up his marriage again.

When he meets with the Penguins, Mario Lemieux is there.

Evgeni’s eyes go wide and he promptly forgets all of his English. No other team has brought out the owner of said team to meet him. It’s intimidating that Pittsburgh has, even though Lemieux is technically still a player. Evgeni remembers a highlight Sidney had showed him just the previous week and swallows hard.

 _Definitely_ still a player.

“I’ve been looking forward to meet you, Evgeni,” Lemieux says after having introduced himself—as if Evgeni isn’t already aware of who he is. “I expect you’ll do great things here.”

Evgeni doesn’t dare ask if _here_ means the NHL in general or if he means _here_ as in the Penguins. He really, really hopes it’s the latter.

“Nice to meet!” Evgeni manages to squeak out when it becomes apparent that it’s his turn to speak now. He’s still shaking Lemieux’s hand and has to force himself to let go, flushing an embarrassed red as he does so.

Lemieux laughs, but it sounds kind, as if he’s sharing a joke with Evgeni. Evgeni kind of wants to ask him for an autograph.

The meeting goes well—or as well as these things can, Evgeni thinks. There’s a few truly bizarre questions, including one where they ask him if he considers himself as more of a bird or a four-legged animal, and Evgeni just barely holds back the, “Penguin! I’m a Penguin!” that wants to escape. Instead he says, “Think I’m be scorpion,” and watches anxiously as the executives exchange surprised looks and Mario Lemieux seems to hold back a smile.

When it’s over, Evgeni leaves feeling good about it.

He’s escorted out by Lemieux, who shakes his hand again and apologises for the weird questions. “Before my draft, they asked me if I would rather have telepathy or telekinesis.”

“Telekinesis?”

“Move things with my mind,” Lemieux explains.

Evgeni blinks. NHL execs are so very _weird_. “What you say?”

“Whichever one was going to give me the best advantage on the ice.”

Evgeni snorts at that. “Sound like something Sidka say.” 

“Sidka? You mean Sidney?” Lemieux asks. “I’ve met him before. When he was about fourteen, I think. I remember it very well. He was the only one who’d try to steal the puck off Wayne’s stick.”

Sidney remembers it too. He has it filed under his favourite celebrity meeting, which Evgeni would chirp him about if he wasn’t so insanely jealous that Sidney had gotten the chance to skate with Mario Lemieux _and_ Wayne Gretzky.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your marriage. Marc-Andre says it was a beautiful ceremony. He showed me the pictures.”

“Who?” Evgeni says, confused.

Lemieux eyes him uncertainly. “Marc-Andre,” he repeats. “Marc-Andre Fleury. He stood witness?”

“Flower name is Marc-Andre?” Evgeni blurts out, incredulous. It hasn’t occurred to him before that he never did learn the guy’s real name. His jersey had said Fleury, but Evgeni had only known him as Flower. He’s reminded, suddenly, that Flower is a Penguins prospect. Has already played more than a dozen games for them.

Lemieux laughs. “Flower, yes. He lived with my family this year,” he says. “Which is how I’ve seen a couple of pictures from your wedding. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you. I just wanted to offer my congratulations; you looked very happy.”

Evgeni eyes him suspiciously for a moment, but Lemieux holds his gaze steadily, his face open. “Was happy,” he agrees. “ _Are_ happy.” And then, belatedly, “Thank you.”

More than one person had asked about Sidney during the interviews, but Lemieux is the only one who has congratulated him on his marriage. Evgeni is a little surprised by how much that means to him.

**

“How it go?” Sidney mumbles in slurred Russian when Evgeni finally stumbles into their hotel room that evening. He’s probably as exhausted as Evgeni; besides playing guide to his family, Evgeni knows the NHL has carted him around, doing all kinds of press and meeting sponsors and whatnot.

Brisson had been very insistent that if Sidney was already going to be there for Evgeni’s draft, they may as well take advantage of the event.

Sidney automatically makes room for Evgeni as he crawls into bed, and then burrows close, his lips brushing Evgeni’s bare torso when he smacks them together absently.

Evgeni wraps an arm around him. He reaches up with his free hand and brushes gentle fingers through Sidney’s hair. “It was okay,” he says. “They asked weird questions.”

Sidney hums, already being lulled back to sleep by Evgeni’s slow caress. “I met Mario Lemieux,” Evgeni whispers. “Seemed like a good guy.”

“‘S good player,” Sidney says, and Evgeni rolls his eyes because it’s such a Sidney thing to focus on.

“I liked him. Liked the Penguins. He congratulated us on our marriage.”

Sidney doesn’t answer. He’s breathing steadily against Evgeni’s chest, mouth slack in sleep. 

Evgeni smiles. He traces a finger over Sidney’s jaw and over his bottom lip, bending to smack a kiss to his forehead and grinning when Sidney scrunches up his nose in sleep.

He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, too keyed up to fall asleep immediately. His mind goes to the Penguins, and he finds himself thinking that being drafted second overall wouldn’t be so bad—even if Sanja will never let him live it down.

**

Evgeni is strangely calm on the day of the draft. He eats breakfast with his parents and Denis—Sidney has been spirited away by Brisson again—and hangs out with Sanja and a few other Russian prospects until it’s time to get dressed and ready.

He walks into the hotel room to find Sidney already there, eating a slice of pizza in nothing but his boxer briefs and watching an episode of Friends on the television.

“I’m hide from Pat,” he admits sheepishly, and Evgeni laughs and crashes onto the bed, bussing a kiss to Sidney’s cheek and stealing the pizza from out of his hand. He last ate only an hour ago, but he’s already hungry again.

“Hey!” Sidney says. He wrestles Evgeni to his back, but the pizza is already gone. That still leaves Sidney on top of him, though, and it’s nothing at all for the wrestling to turn a little more deliberate. In the end, they’re almost late meeting his family outside the draft hall.

Mama takes one look at them and rolls her eyes. She murmurs something about creaking beds that Evgeni does his very best to ignore.

He’s nervous again when they take their seats in the stands, and not even the boos raining down at Gary Bettman can distract him for long. He’s clutching Sidney’s hand in his, and he’s so tense he doesn’t even notice the representative from the Capitals take the stage until he hears, “...from Moscow Dynamo, Alexander Ovechkin!”

Sanja goes first overall, and it’s no surprise, not really, but it means...

“Pittsburgh, Geno!” Sidney yells, almost drown out by the crowd applauding Sanja as he takes the stage. “You’re going to Pittsburgh! You’re going to be a Penguin!”

And sure enough, not even five minutes later, the Penguins’ GM says, “On behalf of Mario Lemieux and Ron Burkle, the Penguins select, from Metallurg Magnitogorsk, Evgeni Malkin!”

Mama is the first who reaches out for him, and then Papa and Denis are there, and when Evgeni turns to Sidney, he grabs his face between his hand and kisses him for the entire arena to see.

He doesn’t think he imagines the cheers and catcalls that break out.

Sidney laughs against his mouth. “Go! You have to go. Get your jersey.” 

Evgeni goes, grinning so wide he thinks for a second his face might split in two. He’s going to be a Penguin. He did it.

He made it to the NHL. 

**

Evgeni wants to move to Pittsburgh immediately.

Sidney laughs and chirps him lightly, saying training camp won’t even start for another two months and they may as well keep training in Cole Harbour, but he gives in once Evgeni starts showing him potential houses—all conveniently close to the Lemieuxs.

Mario originally invites Evgeni to billet with him and his family—“Marc-Andre is moving out to find a place with his girlfriend”—and Evgeni says, “But what about Sidka and Jeffrey?”

And somehow, in the excitement of being drafted and working out the details of moving to Pittsburgh, no one had thought about the logistics of where Sidney would be spending the next year before his own draft.

“I’m going with Geno,” he says very firmly when Mario brings this up after they’ve made a trip down to Pittsburgh for a weekend so they can look at houses.

From the way Brisson sighs exasperatedly and Sidney carefully does not look at his agent, Evgeni realises that this is a discussion that has been going on for some time quite without his knowledge.

Mario’s brows go up. “You’re not eligible to play for any of the Pennsylvania-based teams. Where will you play?” 

Sidney shrugs, and when Evgeni opens his mouth, not even sure what he will say but already worried about how this might affect Sidney’s draft eligibility, Sidney’s jaw sets stubbornly and Evgeni knows there is no arguing with him now.

They move three weeks later.

**

Jeffrey, the spoilt thing, takes to Pittsburgh with the smugness of one who goes from one child to _four_ children now at hand to shower him with love and affection. Though to be fair, Jeffrey is always happy as long as he is the frequent recipient of scratches and pats.

Still, watching the Lemieux kids take him for walks around the neighbourhood is hilarious and adorable in equal measure—Jeffrey is so big, he’s mostly walking them.

“We should be paying Jeffrey in treats, I think,” Nathalie jokes one day. “I don’t think we’ve ever had a babysitter they’ve been so well behaved for. He even makes them exercise.”

Mario snorts, but Evgeni grins at her. He hadn’t been sure what to expect when they met Mario’s wife and kids, but Nathalie has proved to be invaluable; he’s pretty sure their house still wouldn’t be fully furnished if not for her intervention—Sidney tends towards the minimalistic and everything wood, while Evgeni has always been a ‘the bigger the better’ kind of guy.

They’ve had more than one fight about what counts as appropriate living room decorations. (Real-size shark models is apparently _not it_.)

Evgeni actually kind of loves it. They hadn’t gotten the chance to fight over wall paper and throw pillows in their old apartment, temporary as it had been, and their house in Cole Harbour came fully furnished—Evgeni likes that they’re putting so much work into carving out a place for themselves. A place that will be wholly theirs.

Their Pittsburgh house is where they will be spending the majority of their time. It’s where they’ll call _home_.

“Don’t think Jeffrey need more treats.”

“Not with the way Alexa keeps sneaking him food,” Sidney agrees. He leans back in his lounge chair and nudges Evgeni’s thigh with his feet insistently. He smiles sweetly when Evgeni gives in with a roll of his eyes and starts massaging Sidney’s left foot.

Mario makes an attempt at hiding his smile, but Nathalie chuckles loudly. “How come you don’t give me foot rubs anymore?” she asks Mario. “The romance is gone.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mario says, and the look he shares with Nathalie is the kind Taylor would have made a face at and yelled, “Gross!” had she seen it.

Evgeni finds himself smiling fondly at the thought. He misses his sister-in-law something fierce. The Crosbys will be coming down for a visit in about a week, right after Sidney’s birthday, and Evgeni can hardly wait—although he is more relaxed about it than Sidney, who has taken to compulsively cleaning the house in preparation for their arrival.

“Mom!” Lauren calls out as the kids walk into the Lemieuxs’ backyard. “Is the grill ready yet? We’re hungry.”

Summer barbecues at Mario’s place is apparently a weekly thing. Any player that is still in town has a standing invitation, but usually it’s just the Lemieuxs, Mario tells them.

Sidney and Evgeni have been twice already.

“Ask your dad, honey. He’s the grill master.” Nathalie gives her husband a pointed look while Mario grumbles playfully, and Evgeni grins at their antics. He can commiserate. Sidney has many and intense feelings about barbecuing.

As if hearing his thoughts, Sidney kicks him lightly and glares at him when Evgeni only widens his eyes and says, “What?” all faux innocence.

Later that night, with Jeffrey dead to the world in his dog house and Sidney and Evgeni curled up in bed, Sidney says, “I’m not playing anywhere next season.”

Evgeni very carefully holds himself still. He counts to ten, and then again to make sure he doesn’t open his mouth and accidentally starts yelling. Ever since Sidney announced that he was coming with Evgeni to Pittsburgh, he has been worrying about where Sidney would go while Evgeni played for the Penguins.

He doesn’t _want_ Sidney to play anywhere else, he doesn’t want to be apart from him, but more and more the guilt is eating away at him as he realises what Sidney is giving up to be with him. He’s tentatively brought up the idea of deferring for a year, to join Sidney on a team somewhere in Canada and play for the Penguins next year, but Sidney wouldn’t hear of it.

“You’re a Penguin now, Geno. You’re gonna play for the Penguins,” he’d said firmly, and that was the end of that.

Evgeni knows Brisson keeps bringing Sidney offers from Rimouski and even some OHL teams if he wants to jump leagues, and as miserable Evgeni would be without his husband, he refuses to be the reason why Sidney hurts his chances for next year’s draft.

He breathes in deeply. “You can’t go whole year without play. You need do more than just work out. Sidka, you—”

“I’m pregnant,” Sidney cuts him off.

Evgeni goes still for an entirely different reason. “ _What_?” he croaks out. 

He has so many questions. How? When? _What_?

“I’m pregnant,” Sidney says again. “That’s why I can’t play next season. Because of the baby.” 

“How—how this happen? We always use condoms. _Always_.” 

It’s not something Evgeni has thought about in terms of preventing a pregnancy. In fact, he hasn’t really thought about having babies with Sidney beyond some abstract idea that surely, some time in the far, _far_ future, they would have a house full of them.

Using a condom has been a habit ever since he started having sex, long before he ever met Sidney in person. He’d been diligent about it, because happy accidents or STDs was not something that was going to happen to Evgeni. It’s just become habit since then, and even having been married for half a year now, Sidney and Evgeni have yet to forgo using condoms.

Sidney looks miserable. “I’m not on the pill,” he reminds Evgeni. “And condoms aren’t a hundred per cent guarantee. I don’t know how it happened, Geno, it just did. Are you—? Are you mad? Do you not want this?”

Evgeni is horrified to see that Sidney’s eyes are shining wetly, his chin trembling as if he is trying very hard not to cry.

He realises he has never seen Sidney cry before.

He switches to Russian. “God, no, sweetheart. I’m not mad, of course not,” he says, but Sidney doesn’t look convinced, so Evgeni shifts on the bed and tugs at Sidney until he’s firmly in Evgeni’s lap. “I’m just surprised,” he tells him. He presses a reassuring kiss to the hollow of Sidney’s throat.

Sidney breathes in shakily, but lets Evgeni hold him.

“How long have you known?” Evgeni asks after a moment. He swallows down his nerves and pushes at Sidney’s sleep shirt so he can get at his stomach, eyeing it for any visible sign of their child growing inside there. It’s still flat.

Sidney covers his hands over Evgeni’s. “Not long. Since right before draft. After we come home from our honeymoon.”

Their honeymoon. That would make Sidney somewhere along two months, he thinks.

“Geno,” Sidney says quietly. “What you think?”

“I—” Evgeni clears his throat. “Does anyone know? Have you told your parents? Brisson?”

Sidney shakes his head. “No, no one knows. Well, Jeffrey, but only because he was there when I take first test.”

 _The first test_ , Evgeni thinks incredulously. He feels faint, as if he maybe needs to lie down for a second.

“Geno? Are you okay? Are you upset?” Sidney is biting his lip anxiously, and Evgeni would like nothing more than to soothe his worries, but he’s finding it hard to find the words to comfort him.

A baby. They’re having a baby.

He’s going to be a dad. God, that’s terrifying. 

“I’m not—I’m not upset, just...surprised,” he says again. “Scared,” he admits. He sees Sidney open his mouth, and leans forward to press his forehead to Sidney’s. “Please, Sidka, you have to give me a minute here. You’ve had time to get used to the idea of it. I just need a second to catch up.”

“Okay,” Sidney whispers. He still looks worried, looks as scared as Evgeni feels, but less like he’s ready to cry. He moves his hands to cover Evgeni’s back, stroking up and down until Evgeni melts against him.

When they finally go to sleep, Evgeni whispers, “I love you,” against Sidney’s mouth, and the way Sidney beams at him in return is almost enough to convince him that everything is going to be okay.

**

It’s Evgeni’s birthday.

**

Evgeni dreams of the future that night, of winning the Stanley Cup, Sidney by his side and their baby grinning a toothless grin from the bowl of the Cup.

In the morning, it feels more of a premonition than a dream.

**

A couple of days later, Evgeni has had enough time to catch up. He’s not quite so much reeling from the news anymore as he is anticipatory.

“Do you want to keep it?” he asks Sidney during breakfast. “There’s—I mean, you have options if you don’t want to, eh, go through with it,” he finishes lamely.

They hadn’t talked about it when Sidney first told him the news, but Evgeni thinks Sidney had seemed like he might want it.

He needs to be sure, though. There can be no confusion about this.

“Want to keep,” Sidney says firmly. “I think about it, and is big surprise, maybe hard, but I want.” 

It will be more than a little hard, Evgeni thinks. He’s just eighteen, and Sidney will be turning seventeen in the next few days. They’re still so young, but that’s what people had said when they got married, and Evgeni had been sure then. He’d known, with every fiber of his being, that it was the right thing to do.

He pictures a child now, with Sidney’s lovely eyes and curls, pictures a child that looks like _Evgeni_ and he feels a want so keenly he can barely breathe around it.

It feels right.

“Okay,” Evgeni says. “If that’s what you want. Okay.”

Sidney looks at him cautiously, as if he’s not sure Evgeni isn’t just humouring him.

Evgeni offers him a small smile, says again, “Okay. I want this too,” and thinks Sidney must read the truth in his face because he lights up.

“We’re having a baby!” he exclaims in English, and it’s as if Sidney has kept those words inside of him for weeks and weeks, just waiting to explode out of him.

Evgeni beams back at him. “We having baby!”

** 

Barry and Brisson fly into town after they tell them.

Brisson looks like his usual exasperated self—his default expression when he’s dealing with Sidney, Evgeni has learnt—but his smile is warm when he says, “You just love to defy expectations, don’t you, Sid?”

Sidney grins back at him, and accepts their well wishes with bright eyes and a pleased, “Thank you.”

Evgeni can’t hold back his own smile at the sight. He doesn’t think he’s seen Sidney stop grinning since they decided they were going to keep the baby.

“Do you need anything?” Barry asks them. He is ever the practical one, the one who makes sure to cover all of their bases. “When is the last time you had a checkup? Have you registered with a OB/GYN? Do you need me to get the name of a doctor? A midwife, maybe? Have you thought about moving? You didn’t exactly buy this place with a baby in mind, but you certainly have the money to buy something bigger if that’s what you want.”

They do have money, from their performance bonuses, because being emancipated had the unexpected boon of falling under the same money compensation granted to players eighteen and older. Evgeni doesn’t really understand it, but the way Barry explained it their wages were based on age groups, and because Sidney and Evgeni legally counts as adults, their salary increased accordingly.

But even with the money, Evgeni isn’t sure he wants to go through another move so soon. He’s already moved three times in the last few months.

He shares a look with Sidney. “Gonna stay for now,” he says, because they’ve talked about it, and they’ve agreed to turn one of the guest rooms into a nursery. It will be a tight fit if they have both their families visiting at the same time, but they’ll make it work. “Move later if need bigger house.”

“I would like some names, though. I haven’t been to the doctor’s since before we moved to Pittsburgh, and I’m due for a checkup,” Sidney adds.

Barry nods. “I’ll have a list of recommendations sent to you. You can choose whoever you think will work best for you.”

“Have you told anyone else yet? Does your parents know?” Brisson asks, eyeing them curiously. “No. I call Mama and Papa today, and Crosbys come tomorrow. We tell them then.”

“We decided to tell you guys now since this will affect my work ability. I can’t imagine my sponsors will be happy about this.”

Brisson sighs. “I’m not going to lie, Sid. There will probably be some fallout just because you’re so young, but you’re married, and have been married for eight months already. It helps that it wasn’t a shotgun wedding, and that you’re obviously very much in love.”

“We’ll promote the family angle and control the narrative as much as possible,” Barry says. “People usually don’t begrudge other people for wanting to start a family. And no one dislikes babies.”

Brisson snorts. “Or if they do, they’re smart enough not to say so aloud. It’s going to be hard, but it will be fine in the end. Trust us on that.”

Evgeni does. He understands Sidney’s concerns, and shares in them, but Brisson and Barry have been with them for a long time, and they’ve never steered them wrong before. If they say they’ll take care of it, that things will be okay, Evgeni believes them.

Sidney still looks worried, though. “What about the draft? I won’t play at all next season. Will I even be draft eligible? I thought I had to be affiliated with a team.”

Barry nods firmly. “Yes. Technically, Rimouski still owns your junior player rights even if you never play for them. Worst case scenario, we register you as a European player based on your season in Magnitogorsk. That should be valid until you’re twenty-one.”

“Doesn’t that rule only apply if I had played between eighteen and twenty? I was sixteen.”

“Normally, yes, but you became emancipated when you married,” Brisson counters. He shares a wry look with Barry. “It’s flimsy, but we can argue that it made you _legally_ eighteen. It’s not exactly precedented, but you’ll be draft eligible. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Sidka,” Evgeni says gently, slipping into Russian. He grabs for Sidney’s hand, squeezing in comfort. “Everything will be okay. We will make this work, okay? You can have this baby and still play.”

Sidney breathes in deeply. He gives a stiff nod before turning to their agents. “Okay,” he says. “Tell me the plan.”

**

Mama cries when Evgeni tells them the news over the phone, and Papa goes very quiet, but no one yells.

Evgeni will take it, even if the feeling of having disappointed his parents sits heavy with him. He reminds himself of his own reaction and can’t begrudge them for being shocked.

He thinks he just needs to give them time to get used to it.

The Crosbys react much the same way, although Troy does yell. A lot. 

He tells them they’re being irresponsible, tells them how hard it’s going to be, brings up all of the things Sidney and Evgeni have already thought of on their own, are already afraid of, and flings their fears back at them. When he’s done, he’s breathing heavily, nostrils flaring. He turns to Sidney.

“You are happy? You want this baby?”

Sidney has sat through his tirade in stony silence, but he breaks now. “I do,” he whispers. “I want this baby so much, I can’t even—” He breaks off, choking back whatever else he wanted to say.

Troy gives him a hard stare, but Sidney doesn’t say anything more. Finally, Troy leaves. Just turns on his heels and stalks out the door.

It’s the first time Evgeni sees Sidney cry.

** 

The next hours are tense, and no one really talks. Taylor doesn’t understand why everyone is so upset. She is going to be an aunt, she tells them. That’s awesome; she won’t be the youngest in the family anymore.

Sidney gives a startled laugh at her words and hugs her to him tightly.

Trina doesn’t mention the baby at all, but before she disappears into the kitchen to start dinner, she turns to Sidney. “Do you have nausea? Is there anything that makes you sick, anything you can’t eat?”

Sidney shakes his head. “Nothing yet.”

“You’re lucky then. I couldn’t keep anything down with you. Taylor was easier.”

“Maybe that means it’s a girl.”

Trina looks at him, and her eyes dip to his stomach, lightning quick. “Maybe,” she acknowledges, and it’s not much, but it’s something.

When she walks out of the living room, Evgeni catches her eyes and mouths out a silent, _thank you_.

**

Troy returns in the early hours of the morning, long after Trina and Taylor have gone to bed. 

Sid is still stubbornly awake, so Evgeni is too. He sits quietly in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea as Sidney paces back and forth. He knows better than to ask Sidney to sit down, to please rest his feet.

He doesn’t feel like being snapped at again.

When a car pulls into the driveway, lights flashing against the window panes, Sidney finally freezes.

It’s a taxi, and they can hear Troy paying the driver before he walks up the steps to the door. If he’s surprised to find them waiting for him in the kitchen, he doesn’t show it.

He glances at Evgeni, but it’s Sidney he looks at as he says, “I’m sorry I yelled. That wasn’t—” He sighs, looking frustrated. “You’re married. And you’re an adult in the eyes of the law. If you want a baby, that is no one’s business but yours. Both of you.” He offers them a strained smile. “If this is really what you want, then I’ll support you.” He holds up a hand, showing them a small stuffed bunny he’s got clutched between his fingers. “I got this for the baby.”

“Dad,” Sidney chokes out. He flies across the room and throws his arms around Troy’s neck.

Troy hugs him back fiercely, and Evgeni watches them silently with a small smile on his face, letting them have their moment.

**

“There, you see? That is your baby.”

Evgeni gasps, and he’s aware that the doctor keeps talking, but he can’t filter through the words when all he can focus on is the black and white outline of their baby.

It’s their first ultrasound, and Evgeni has been waiting for this moment since Sidney decided on a doctor and booked an appointment for a checkup.

“Is it healthy?” Sidney asks worriedly. He’s clutching at Evgeni’s hand, eyes locked on the screen of the ultrasound machine.

Somehow, Evgeni hadn’t expected that it’d be so easy to make out the shape of the baby; he can so clearly see the head and the tiny, impossibly small body. It’s breathtaking.

Their doctor, a woman named Emily Burrows, nods easily. She’s an older woman, with a kind smile and a southern accent. She had offered them each a cookie when they walked into her office. Evgeni likes her a lot.

“Yes,” she says. “Perfectly healthy and developed. From what it looks like, I’d say you’re eleven weeks along. I’ll tentatively mark down your due date as March 4, though that may change later. You said you’d experienced no morning sickness?”

“No. Just sore feet. Geno keeps having to give me foot rubs.”

“Good man,” Dr. Burrows tells him, and Evgeni grins, because he’s becoming a boss at foot massages. She focuses back on Sidney. “You’re lucky you’re not feeling any nausea, but some people do escape it. My son has had five babies and he never had any sickness; I, of course, couldn’t keep anything down with him.” She gives a rueful shake of her head. “Because _you_ appear to be keeping your food down, I’m expecting you’ll start gaining weight very soon. Be sure to keep a healthy and balanced diet, okay? I’ll print out a list of recommended foods for you before you leave.”

“Thank you,” Sidney says. “Is there anything else I should be doing—or not doing?”

“I’ll give you a list of dos and don’ts along with the diet plan, but honestly, just use common sense. Pregnant teenagers have a higher rate of anemia and high blood pressure, so we’ll be on the lookout for that throughout your pregnancy, but you’re already in excellent condition, so that will help. And I strongly recommend that you buy a couple of pregnancy and baby books so you can start reading up on what to expect.”

“Already do,” Evgeni admits. It may be possible that he’d gone a little crazy on ordering books off Amazon once they’d decided to keep the baby, but he believes in being prepared, and besides, it’s not as if Sidney had minded.

Dr. Burrows gives them an approving smile.

They wrap up the appointment ten minutes later, and they leave with a bundle of documents for Sidney, two printouts of the ultrasound, and another cookie for each of them.

(Evgeni _really_ likes their doctor.)

**

In September, Sidney’s stomach sports the tiniest of bumps and the NHL announces a league-wide lockout.

Evgeni receives a text from Velichkin the same day:

 _Offer still stands_.

Evgeni can feel his smugness from thousands of miles and an entire continent away. He hates Velichkin just a little bit harder.

“It’s bullshit,” Flower exclaims when he drops by the house after the news break. He’s been back in Pittsburgh for a couple of weeks, arriving a few days before camp started to settle into the new apartment he shares with his girlfriend.

(Evgeni likes Vero a lot; she is way out of Flower’s league. Evgeni delighted in telling him this.)

“Did you know anything about it? Did Mario say something?”

Evgeni shrugs. “Mario is boss. Can’t talk about it.”

Flower snorts in disbelief. “You live down street from him. You have dinner at his house almost every day. I have seen you _carpool_.”

He says it as if Evgeni should be embarrassed to be hitching a ride with their boss, and Evgeni thinks he maybe should, but then again, their boss is Mario Lemieux, so probably not.

(“ _Definitely_ not,” Sidney had corrected when Evgeni asked him about it.)

“Still boss, Flower,” Evgeni says. “Knew was possibility, but not for sure.” He’d mostly ignored the reports and rumblings of the disagreement between the owners and the NHLPA, too busy settling into Pittsburgh, training for the new season, and then learning about the baby.

Maybe that’s been careless of him, but even with the way Sidney has looked a little more worried every day, even though Mario’s shoulders are always tense and his lips pinched, Evgeni had believed it would all work out.

“Not surprised, though.” He hesitates, but then he says, “Hoped it not true, but have known could happen since April.”

“April?” Flower exclaims. “ _How_?”

Evgeni shrugs again. “My Russian GM tell me.”

“And how he know?”

“Is Russian,” Evgeni says, and that really should be explanation enough. Velichkin probably has ears and eyes in all of the major hockey leagues. Flower seems to take it at face value, anyway.

“This sucks. Where you play now? Are you going back to Russia?”

“No.” Evgeni shakes his head. He’s not going back now, much as he loves and misses his family. It’s better to stay in the States until Sidney has given birth. Evgeni doesn’t want to give Velichkin something else to leverage. “AHL not locked out. Will play in Wilkes-Barre with baby Pens.”

It means he’s going to have to move again after all, but it will be worth it for the chance to play.

Besides, he’ll likely get to play with a few of his future teammates, once they make it to the show. He might as well get to know them now.

Flower groans. “I just come from Wilkes-Barre. Going to have to room with some of the guys again.”

“Why not get place with Vero?”

“Can’t afford it,” Flower says with a rueful shake of his head. “We spent most of our money on new apartment, and we still don’t have everything. Man, furniture is so fucking expensive.”

“Can ask Sidka if okay to room with us,” Evgeni says. He thinks Sidney would like that, actually. Sidney is a people person; he’s never alone if he can help it.

Nathalie likes to joke that Sid is like her fifth kid, because he and Jeffrey are usually hanging out at the Lemieuxs’ when Evgeni is at camp. Having Vero around while Evgeni is busy at practice or away on road trips would probably be a relief for him, especially now that he’s pregnant and seems to have an abundance of restless energy.

Sidney gets bored easily. He’ll enjoy having someone to drag along to museums and workouts and his carefully planned shopping excursions.

Evgeni would certainly prefer not to leave Sidney by himself while he’s away on road trips.

“You think is okay? It won’t be too weird?”

“Why weird? We friends, yes?”

“Sidney and us, yeah. We just feel sorry for you,” Flower chirps with a grin. He ducks when Evgeni rolls a napkin into a ball and throws it at his head.

“You’re picking that up,” Sidney says as he walks into the kitchen, a bottle of water in his hand and a happily panting Jeffrey behind him. They look tired, but pleased. Sidney’s face is flushed red with exertion and Jeffrey is attacking his water bowl as if he’s been parched for days.

“How was run?” Evgeni asks, and when Sidney steps close enough, he reels him in with one arm and tugs until Sidney collapses onto his lap. He kisses his sweaty cheek, laughing when Sidney squirms away.

“Urgh, no. I’m all gross and sweaty.”

“Look good all gross and sweaty,” Evgeni tells him, and maybe his voice comes out a little lower than he intended because across the table, Flower rolls his eyes and throws the napkin back at them.

“Oi!” he says. “You have guest. Keep it in your pants.”

Sidney flashes Flower a grin before turning his attention back to Evgeni. “It was a good run. I beat my record,” he says happily. 

Evgeni shakes his head. Sidney hates running, says it’s the worst part of all his workout exercises; making it a competition, even if it’s just against himself and the clock, helps him get through it.

He usually brings Jeffrey along, and then tries to race him, which Jeffrey thinks is the most amazing game ever—for about ten minutes before he gets bored.

“So good,” Evgeni coos at him. “Best.”

Sidney’s flush deepens. “Shut up,” he says, but Evgeni knows he’s pleased at the compliment. “Anyway. What are you guys talking about?”

“The lockout.”

“Oh.” Sidney sags back against Evgeni’s chest. “I can’t believe you’re going to miss your rookie year. It’s not right.”

Evgeni is struggling to wrap his head around it as well. He feels cheated, but he knows there is nothing to be done about it but wait and hope it resolves itself soon. If he’s lucky, things will be back in session before the year is out and Evgeni will get his rookie year after all.

He’s not feeling particularly hopeful about it.

“You’re going to Wilkes-Barre, too, right?” Sidney asks Flower.

Flower nods. “Is good group over there, but.” He makes a face.

“It’s not the NHL,” Evgeni says quietly, and Flower nods.

“Exactly.”

“Flower wonder if he and Vero can room with us,” Evgeni tells Sidney. “Be cheaper for everyone, and you won’t be alone when team play road games.”

Sidney perks up at that. “That’s a great idea. We’re getting a place in Hazleton, though, so it’ll take you about forty minutes to get to the rink. Hope that’s okay.”

“Why Hazleton?”

“Because of Alex. Alex Ovechkin,” Sidney clarifies when Flower frowns in confusion. “You met him at our wedding, remember? He stood witness for Geno.”

“Yes, Sid. I remember Alex Ovechkin,” he says, so dry Evgeni has to hold back a smile at his deadpan look. “What’s Ovi have to do with anything?”

“He call earlier today. Say he play for Hershey Bear if I play for baby Pens.”

“He’s going to room with us and commute.”

Flower’s brows shoot up. “He’s going to commute? How long will that take? Is long drive, no?” 

“An hour and a half each way,” Sidney admits, and Evgeni can only shake his head. He still can’t believe Sanja is willing to go through with it.

“That’s crazy! What about when he has early morning practice? He has to get up at five in morning just to make it in time.”

Sidney shrugs. “He says he’s determined to do it.”

“Sanja crazy,” Evgeni adds sagely, because God knows Evgeni would never. He needs his sleep too much. He’d almost been able to hear Sanja’s shrug when Evgeni had told him as much over the phone; “Plus, you won’t be paid nearly half as good as they’d pay you in Russia.”

“I want to be there for my godchild,” Sanja had told him. “I won’t get the chance when I’m in Washington and you guys in Pittsburgh. Not like that.”

And Evgeni knows that Sanja is mostly over his feelings for Sidney and that the two are basically best friends, but Evgeni suspects Sidney will always be the one who got away for Sanja—even if Sidney hadn’t been his to begin with.

Still. He won’t begrudge Sanja for wanting to be there for them, and Evgeni can’t deny that Sanja had been genuinely excited when they told him the news of Sidney’s pregnancy, wasting no time in declaring the baby his godchild. Sidney had laughed cheerfully over the phone but hadn’t denied it, so Evgeni guesses he just has to accept that Alex Ovechkin is going to be his child’s godfather.

His kid could do worse, he thinks.

“Is going to be full house. You sure you want me and Vero to stay with you too?” 

Evgeni nods. “Yes. Won’t be problem. We get place big enough for everyone.” And Sanja will be gone more than Evgeni; he really would like for Vero to be around in case Sidney needs it.

He thinks Vero would probably like that as well. Evgeni knows the move from Canada has been hard for her. She still doesn’t really know anyone outside of Flower, and she mostly speaks French.

Sidney knows French, at least. He’d learnt for Rimouski, even if he’d never gotten the chance to really use it.

“Okay.” Flower nods. “I will tell Vero. We talk about it.”

**

Vero must say yes, because a week later, they move into a four-bedroom house they rent in the township of Hazleton. It has a porch in the front and a yard out back where Jeffrey can run around. It also has a bathroom and two bedrooms on the first floor, which means they can turn one of the bedrooms into a nursery and keep the other for themselves so Sidney won’t have to go up and down the stairs during the later stages of his pregnancy; his feet are already aching from how swollen they are.

It’s not where Evgeni had pictured them being when the Penguins drafted him in June, and it’s not what he’d hoped for when they left Russia, but he thinks for a season, he could really like it here.

The Porsche he buys helps, despite Sidney’s many protests that it’s not a practical car for the Pennsylvania weather. And it’s not as if they’re not going to get the Range Rover of Sidney’s dreams for when the baby comes—sturdy, safe, and, “ _PracticaI,_ Geno”—but for a while, it will do more than fine.

And besides, Flower loves it almost as much as Evgeni, and the two of them are going to be the ones to use it back and forth to the rink anyway.

(Sanja, the suckup that he is, does get a Rover.)

“I still can’t believe you going to commute so far almost every day,” Flower says around a mouthful of pizza during a break in the moving. Next to him, Vero nods her agreement.

“Is long way,” she says, carefully sounding out the words. Her English actually isn’t that bad, but Vero is still shy about it, insisting she understands far more than she can speak. She’s already improved tons in the few weeks she’s been in the States.

Sanja shrugs. “Is only one more hour than you drive. It’s not so bad.”

“Lonely, though. At least I have this asshole with me.”

“Hey!” Evgeni protests at Flower’s pointed glare. 

He’s got his hand on the last slice of pizza, which he’s stolen from right under Flower’s grasp, but everyone knows the early bird gets the worm or whatever, so it’s Flower’s fault for not acting fast enough.

Sidney snickers, and because he’s a bigger asshole than all of them combined, snatches the slice just as Evgeni is about to bite into it, and shovels it into his own mouth, moaning obnoxiously.

Evgeni sighs as the others laugh. He deserved that. “Lucky you cute,” he tells Sidney. Sidney smiles smugly.

Flower ignores them and focuses back on Sanja. “What you gonna do about gas? The Rover won’t be cheap if you drive so much.”

Alex smirks smugly. “Team pay for gas. Is called ‘travel stipend’.” Flower looks suitably impressed. “How you make that happen?”

“Before I sign contract, I tell team I want to live out here and commute, but have concern about gas money. They say is okay. ‘We will pay’.” He glances at Sidney. “Was Sidka’s idea.”

“Well, why shouldn’t you take advantage? You turned down a two million-dollar contract with Dynamo to stay here. The least they could do is cover your travel expenses.”

“Would have stayed anyway,” Sanja points out.

“But _they_ didn’t know that, Alex,” Sidney argues, which really is proof enough that he’s spent too much time on the phone with Barry and Brisson lately; Sidney is becoming very adept at looking at all the angles and predicting the outcome.

Evgeni would be a little bit scared if it also weren’t so incredibly hot; Sidney on a mission does _things_ to him.

Vero nods and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Seem like good deal.”

“Is good deal,” Sanja says. “Could be worse. Could make me use public transportation.” 

They all shudder at the truth of that.

“Just make sure you still awake to score goals, or me and Flower crush you when we play games,” Evgeni tells him, which, naturally, starts an hour long discussion about which team is the real champion of Pennsylvania.

**

Evgeni’s first meeting with his new teammates goes something like this: 

Max Talbot says, “Well, well! If it isn’t Mrs. Crosby in the flesh,” and Flower answers back, “You such a douche, Talbo,” as if it wasn’t Flower who’d introduced Evgeni to him that way in the first place.

Evgeni hasn’t seen Max Talbot since Helsinki, almost a year ago now, but it’s good to see him again. He’d been a funny guy, and Evgeni hadn’t even realised he was playing for the Pens. He wonders if Sidney knows.

Max, or Talbo as he insists on being called, decides he and Evgeni are going to be great friends. “For Canada and Sidney’s sake,” he says, and Evgeni isn’t sure how that even makes sense, but Talbo doesn’t explain, so he mostly decides to just go with it.

“How is Sid anyway?” Talbo asks. “I haven’t heard from him in a while. Is he finally going to play for Rimouski this year?”

Evgeni looks at Flower, but Flower only shrugs helplessly, as if to say, _It’s your news, not mine._

“Sid won’t play this year,” Evgeni says after a beat. People are going to find out eventually. It’s only through luck and the skill of their agents that no one has reported Sidney’s absence from Rimouski’s training camp yet. And besides, Talbo is Sidney’s friend and Evgeni’s teammate now; he doesn’t think Sidney would mind Evgeni telling him.

“What the hell? Is he okay? What happened, is he injured, or?”

“We having a baby,” Evgeni says quietly. “He’s pregnant.”

“Holy shit!” someone exclaims, and Evgeni whirls on his feet to see a guy with a crooked nose and a gobsmacked look on his face standing behind him. “Sidney Crosby is pregnant?”

Which is how Evgeni meets Colby Armstrong.

** 

Evgeni quickly finds his place with his new team. Michel Therrien is a hardass, and he’s not quite sure what to make of Mike Yeo, their assistant coach, but Evgeni clicks well with Talbo and Army, and it only takes three days into camp for Coach Therrien to decide he agrees.

“You played very well on Crosby’s wing last year, but you’re a natural centre, yes?” Therrien asks him.

Evgeni nods. Army has been playing on his off-side to let Evgeni play right wing while Talbo has been centering their line. Talbo is a decent centre, but he’s nowhere near the playmaker Evgeni is; he just doesn’t have the raw physical talent that Evgeni does.

Still. Evgeni understands his coaches’ hesitancy in taking him off the wing. It’s been a year since he last played his natural position at centre, but Evgeni is itching to get back to it, to show them what he can do.

Therrien hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see,” he says, and when first given the chance, Evgeni makes sure he does.

Once the preseason starts, no one is talking about Evgeni at wing.

**

WBS finishes the preseason with a two-game road trip.

It’s the first time Evgeni is away from Sidney for more than a day since they got married. 

Sidney practically has to force him out the door, and Evgeni spends basically all of his free time glued to his phone, texting and calling Sidney whenever he has the time.

His teammates don’t even chirp him about it, he’s looking so forlorn.

“You know this is pathetic, right?” Talbo asks when Evgeni’s phone beeps with another text from Sidney, but at least he’s not wrestling the phone out of Evgeni’s hands the way he knows Flower would have, so he’s not actually the worst roommate Evgeni could have ended up with.

“Don’t care,” Evgeni says. “I miss him.”

Talbo rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, though, just switches on the TV and flips through the channels until he finds something called _America’s Next Top Model_. Evgeni has never seen it before, but Talbo is _obsessed_.

“How is Sid anyway?” he asks after a while. “I keep texting him, but he’s not responding.”

Evgeni sighs, not sure how to answer that. Sidney is happy as long as he focuses on the baby or keeps busy, but he gets weird about hockey sometimes, about Evgeni’s team and his teammates, even Talbo, who he actually knows pretty well.

It’s as if Sidney doesn’t quite know how to relate to it anymore. “He’s okay. Sad about miss hockey. Is hard for him.”

Talbo nods as if that makes sense. “Just tell him I miss him, okay? And that if he wants to hang out or whatever, he has my number.”

Evgeni eyes him. He’s a little surprised Talbo is being so patient about this. Surprised and grateful. “You good friend, Talbo,” he says, and promises himself that he’ll speak to Sidney about it once he gets back.

**

They lose both of the away games, which sucks, but it’s only the preseason and Evgeni is too relieved at being back home to properly care anyway.

“Talbo ask about you again,” Evgeni tells Sidney when he finds him outside in the yard after dinner. He sits down on the porch, watching Sidney run through some obedience drills with Jeffrey.

Evgeni is just a little bit jealous at the ease of which Jeffrey is following Sidney’s commands. He never bothers with half as much enthusiasm when Evgeni tries. It’s obvious who the dog has decided is the alpha of their pack.

“Oh?”

“Say you not answer his texts.”

“I’ve been busy,” Sidney lies badly.

Evgeni is not even going to bother acknowledging that. “Sidka,” he says. 

Ever since they moved to Hazleton, Sidney has carefully stayed away from the rink and limited his exposure to hockey in general. He lives with three other hockey players, so he can’t escape it entirely, but Evgeni wonders if he thinks he hasn’t noticed the way Sidney has suddenly gone from spending eighty per cent of his time talking about hockey to barely mentioning it at all.

“He just want see you. He’s your friend.”

“Fine,” Sidney says waspishly. “I’ll text him back.” 

They’re quiet for a moment. Jeffrey looks between them curiously, but once Sidney feeds him a treat and starts petting him, he decides there is nothing to worry about and happily lets Sidney shower him with affection.

“It’s okay to miss it,” Evgeni says finally, switching to Russian to make sure he doesn’t mess this up. “You don’t have to quit hockey entirely, you know. You can still skate and practice your shot. That was what the doctor said during your last checkup, right? You should come visit the rink with me. Meet the guys, see Talbo.”

“I don’t—” Sidney cuts himself off, and sighs, frustrated. He turns to look at Evgeni. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t snap at you. Was shitty.”

Evgeni carefully keeps his face neutral. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” Sidney abandons Jeffrey, ignoring his pitiful whine, and walks over to Evgeni, settling down next to him on the porch. He says in English, “I talked to Pat today. He said there’s a reporter he trusts if we want to go public about the pregnancy soon. We probably should. I’m only gonna get bigger, and Pat’s been getting questions about what I’m doing in Wilkes-Barre. I guess people finally figured out I’m not in Rimouski and guessed I’d be where you’re at.”

“Sidka. Don’t have to do interview if you don’t want. Can keep secret.”

Sidney leans his head against Evgeni’s shoulder. “No,” he says. “People will definitely find out, and it’s like JP said, it’s better to control the narrative. I think an interview is a good move, actually.” He picks up Evgeni’s hand with his, fiddling with the wedding band around his ring finger. “I’m scared,” he says suddenly, and Evgeni is so startled by the admission he has to struggle to hold still.

He doesn’t like the idea of Sidney having been worrying by himself. Sidney’s burdens are Evgeni’s burdens, but he needs for Sidney to share with him.

“Of what, Sidka?” he asks gently.

“I’m scared of going to the rink, of skating. I’m scared of being around Talbo and the other guys and loving it too much when I know I can’t—I can’t play the way I want to, the way I’m used to. I don’t—” He cuts himself off, and breathes in deep before he tries again. “All my life has been about hockey. It’s what I live for. I don’t know who I am without it. What if I start, I don’t know, resenting the baby or something? I don’t want that. I just figured it was better to stay away. Make a clean break, you know.”

Evgeni doesn’t know what to say to that. He has no idea how he’d react in the same situation. Hockey isn’t just a passion for them, a job, a hobby, something they love to do. It’s a lifestyle. Everything they’ve done for the entirety of their adolescence has been about getting drafted, about making it to the NHL.

Evgeni is already there. Maybe it won’t be this year because of the lockout, but he’s made it. He’s in the show.

Sidney will be too. Evgeni believes that with all his heart, he’s too good not to make it, but the uncertainty of _when_ is hanging over them both, and Evgeni doesn’t know how to make it better for him.

He doesn’t regret Sidney getting pregnant, and he knows Sidney doesn't either, but he hadn’t realised how upset Sidney has been at the reality of not playing.

“Not work like that,” Evgeni says finally. “Clean break is hard when almost everyone around you play hockey. And you won’t resent baby. You couldn’t.” If nothing else, Evgeni is sure of that much.

“I know. I just—It’s hard, is all.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while, watching as Jeffrey moves around the yard, inspecting this bush and that flower.

“Should come meet the guys, see Talbo. I think will be good for you.” And maybe Evgeni wants Sidney to come see him play as well, even if that’s a little selfish when he knows how hard this is for him. “Come see me,” he adds.

Sidney lifts his head from Evgeni’s shoulder and turns to face him. He offers him a small smile. It’s not much, but Evgeni will take it.

“I will,” Sidney says. “Just—Let me do it in my own time, okay?” Evgeni leans his forehead against Sidney’s. “Take all time you need.”

**

Two days later, they sit down with Brisson’s reporter friend. 

It makes for a good article.

**

Vero is the one who comes home with the Nintendo.

“It’s from home,” she explains. “My parents ship it from Canada. I think will be fun for us.”

Evgeni, who’s played before at the Lemieuxs’, looks from Sidney to the game console warily.

“Do you have Mario Kart?” Sidney asks eagerly, and when Vero nods, he turns to look at Evgeni expectantly. “Want to play? You can be Yoshi,” he offers generously, because Yoshi is obviously the best, and also Sidney knows to bribe him into playing.

Evgeni is saved from answering by Sanja, the poor fool, offering to play instead.

“I’ll play too,” Flower says, and Vero adds, “Have four controllers. Can take turns.”

Evgeni watches them set up and wonders if he should warn them beforehand, and then decides he probably should have when three hours later Sidney’s controller ends up flying through the air and accidentally smacks into Sanja’s temple in a fit of anger.

“You’ll need stitches,” the nurse manning the admission desk tells them when they show up at the ER, and Sidney shuffles his feet guiltily and says again, “I’m _so sorry_ , Alex.”

It’s not his finest moment.

(Evgeni _definitely_ should have warned them beforehand.) 

**

Once camp is over and the season begins in earnest, things quickly settle into a routine at home. 

All of them—except for Sidney, who’s taken to sleeping in—have early mornings, including Vero. She’s signed up for an ESL course and takes a few classes at King’s College up by Wilkes-Barre. Some days she hitches a ride with Evgeni and Flower.

They’re all tired, but no one more so than Sanja, who is barely awake in the mornings, and barely awake in the evenings when he returns. On the rare days he only has a few hours worth of obligations at the rink, Sidney will make the drive with him.

He doesn’t have his license, but he’s got a permit and seems to consider the drive as good practice.

(Sanja privately tells Evgeni that Sidney’s driving is equal to that of his seventy-eight-year-old grandmother, and Evgeni snickers, because ten km/h below the speed limit is still too fast for Sidney’s taste. It’s one of the reasons he’d liked the Ford so much. The shitty thing never could push it past eighty.)

Sanja looks a little more awake when they get home those days, and while Evgeni had thought that Sanja was no longer crushing on Sidney the way he was, he can still so easily read the longing and fondness in his gaze when Sanja looks at Sidney.

Whatever Sanja’s feelings are now, they’re strong.

Evgeni asks him, just once, because he has to know. “Do you love him?” 

Sanja startles, but when he turns to look at Evgeni with a pack of apples in one hand and a carton of chocolate milk in the other, because that’s what Sidney had told them he was craving when he’d sent the two of them out for a grocery run, there is no confusion on his face.

“Yes,” he says simply. He holds Evgeni’s gaze. “He doesn’t love me back, though. He never could, not the way he loves you. But he’s my best friend, and I need him in my life, so.” He shrugs. “I never would have made a move anyway. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know I wouldn’t.”

“Not even for Sidka?” Evgeni can’t help but ask. Sanja’s feelings for his husband should make him uncomfortable, should make him angry, but instead, he just feels sad for his friend. Evgeni doesn’t know that he’d ever survive in a world where Sidney didn’t love him back.

Sanja sighs, but doesn’t respond. Evgeni is not sure either of them would have liked his answer anyway.

A few minutes pass, Evgeni pushing their cart along the aisles and Sanja picking up the things on Sidney’s list. Finally, Sanja says, “I’ve never in my life been loved the way Sidka loves you. The way you love Sidka.” He smiles, a sad, small thing. “Don’t waste it.”

 _Don’t you dare_ , he doesn’t say, but Evgeni hears it just fine. “I won’t,” he promises.

It’s the last time they ever talk about it. 

**

They’re about a month into the season when Sidney finally shows up to the rink. 

It’s more than a little embarrassing, but it takes Talbo to point him out in the stands for Evgeni to notice.

“Dude, you didn’t say your better half was gonna be here today,” he says, nudging Evgeni’s side incessantly.

Evgeni swats at him, mind still focused on the sermon Coach Therrien is giving about their power play and the many ways it can improve—“So help me, you are professionals—”

And it’s not until Flower says, “Sid?” that Evgeni deigns to look at the people in the stands.

Open practice always draws a crowd, especially now that the NHL is locked out, but Evgeni has no problem finding Sidney once he knows to look for him.

Sidney smiles and offers a hesitant wave, and looks unconcerned by the glances people keep shooting him once they notice the way Evgeni is grinning at him like a lunatic.

“Malkin,” Therrien barks, and Evgeni has to look away then.

He puts on a bit of a show after that, competing more seriously than he normally would during an open practice. He hears the crowd _ooh_ appreciatively after a particularly beautiful spin-o-rama goal, and he can practically feel Sidney’s eye roll all the way from the stands. It makes him grin a little bit harder.

Sidney has already seen everything in his arsenal twice over, but still, Evgeni can’t help but try to impress him; he’s ecstatic that Sidney has finally decided he’s ready to show up at the rink, even if it is just for a practice.

Evgeni can be patient when he needs to, though. He’ll wait until Sidney feels ready to attend their home games.

Once Therrien blows the whistle to end practice, Evgeni asks one of the maintenance guys if he’d mind finding Sidney and bring him down to the locker room. He starts to explain what he looks like when the guy deadpans, “Look for Sidney Crosby, got it.”

Evgeni frowns. The interview they’d given for Brisson’s friend was published barely a month ago; the news of their marriage and Sidney’s pregnancy had taken the hockey world by storm, and the story had quickly caught the attention of the national press, followed by the international one.

There had been some backlash as expected, but mostly people seemed happy for them.

“It’s like we said,” Brisson had told them patiently over the phone. “People have a hard time arguing against babies.”

With the lockout still going and a lack of NHL news, the story had blown up more than it probably would have otherwise; if the guy hadn’t already known who Sidney was through hockey alone, chances were he’d read about him recently.

All of the attention makes Evgeni deeply uncomfortable, but Barry keeps assuring him that it will fade as soon as people have something else to focus on. Sidney, who’s been used to dealing with media from a very young age, handles the attention with far more grace than Evgeni, but even Sidney is anxious for people to move on to another story—something that isn’t his pregnancy, or questions about whether or not he thinks a team will want him after having had a baby so close to the draft, after not having played an entire season.

It doesn’t help that all the question marks are echoes of Sidney’s own concerns.

“Hey,” Evgeni calls out softly in Russian once he walks out of the locker room and finds Sidney waiting out in the hall. “I didn’t know you were stopping by today. Not that I mind, of course.” He reaches for Sidney, roping an arm around his expanding waist and pulling him close enough to bury his face in his neck.

“Urgh.” Sidney pushes at him half heartedly. “Your hair is wet, you drip all over me.”

“You like it,” Evgeni says with a smirk, though Sidney most assuredly does not, which is half the reason Evgeni is even bothering.

The door to the locker room opens behind them, and Evgeni can hear Talbo and Army before he even sees them. They stop up short when they notice Sidney and Evgeni.

Talbo grins, and Evgeni is relieved at the sight. Talbo’s been asking about Sidney for weeks now, patiently saying he’ll be around once Sidney is ready to talk. Evgeni is pleased there seems to be no hard feelings despite it having taken so long.

“There is my petit méchant pétard! Have you missed me?”

Evgeni isn’t sure what that means, but knows it must be something embarrassing from the way Sidney says, “Oh my god,” and hides his face against Evgeni’s collarbone, as if that will somehow make Talbo disappear.

Sidney mumbles something back in French, just loud enough for Talbo to hear, and Talbo throws his head back and laughs.

“Is that any way to talk to a friend you haven’t seen in almost a year?”

“Who says we’re friends?” Sidney chirps at him, but there’s no cruelty in it, and when he pulls back from Evgeni’s shoulder to finally meet Talbo’s eyes, he’s smiling. He looks uncharacteristically shy. “Hi Talbo,” he says.

Talbo takes that as blanket permission to pull Sidney from Evgeni and gather him into a huge bearhug.

Flower, who’s just joined them in the hallway, throws his arm around Talbo’s neck and exclaims, “Team Canada reunion! Let’s go for lunch. Talbo, you buy; Geno is not invited.”

“Hell yeah!” Talbo says, just as Evgeni snaps off a haughty, “Fuck you. Don’t want have lunch with you anyway.”

Which isn’t exactly true. Evgeni wouldn’t mind tagging along, but Sidney hasn’t seen Talbo since Helsinki, and the fact that he’s shown up at the rink on his own accord is a huge concession on Sidney’s part.

Evgeni doesn’t want to get in the way of him catching up with Talbo and Flower and talking about Team Canada stuff.

Sidney eyes him worriedly for a second. “You sure it’s okay?” He switches to Russian. “Can come along if you want. I want you there; will be fun.”

Evgeni shakes his head. He reaches for Sidney, gives him a gentle kiss to reassure him, and says, “You go ahead, okay? Speak French and have fun with these losers. I’ll see you at home.”

“Dude, they’ve been married almost a year and they’re _still_ acting like this?” Talbo asks Flower, looking at Sidney and Evgeni as if they’re one of his beloved reality shows—like the one with all the models he forces Evgeni to watch whenever they’re on the road.

(Evgeni is rooting for Yaya; he’s invested now.)

“I know,” Flower says. “Is so gross. They even worse at home.” 

Which is true, but also hypocritical seeing as Flower regularly treats Vero like a goddess made flesh and bone.

“Okay,” Army cuts in, and Evgeni startles. He’s been so quiet Evgeni had almost forgotten the guy was there, which is strange, because Army is both very loud and very memorable. “This little reunion here is all nice and sweet, but where is my introduction, huh? Geno, introduce me to your husband.”

Evgeni rolls his eyes. He gestures carelessly at Army, says, “Sidka, this Colby Armstrong. He _terrible_ at hockey. So bad. Army, this is my husband, Sid. He best at hockey. Much better than you.”

Army grins. “ _No one_ is better at hockey than I am,” he says, which is an outrageous lie said with the kind of bald-faced arrogance only Army can manage.

Evgeni is horrified to notice that rather than being put off, Sidney seems oddly charmed by it.

“So good you didn’t even get a single shot past Flower today,” Sidney chirps, and Army narrows his eyes as Evgeni and the others laugh at him.

“Oh, it’s on, Crosby. First chance you get, you and me, Mario Kart. We’ll see who’s the greatest.”

“Army—”

“Mario Kart?” Sidney asks, interested. “You have a Nintendo?”

Army’s eyes gleam. “In the rec room. You game?” he asks, which are, of course, the magic words as far as Sidney is concerned.

Evgeni shares a look with Flower and groans. He just hopes no one ends up getting hit in the head by a controller this time.

**

Sidney does end up going out for lunch with Flower and Talbo, but not before Army absolutely murders him in Mario Kart, which is how Evgeni knows Army will now be a common fixture in his life away from the rink as well, because Sidney will not be giving up until he’s beaten him consistently.

“To make sure it’s not a fluke,” Sidney says gravely. Sometimes, Evgeni despairs of his husband.

** “I’ve been thinking,” Sidney says a few days later.

Evgeni looks up from his breakfast with bleary eyes. “Hm?”

“I spoke with Mario yesterday, and he said if we draw up a schedule, I can get a key to the rink and do my own training when you guys aren’t using it. Andy even said he’d come down for a few months if I’m serious about it. He says there’s a lot of exercises I can still do. And he’ll obviously monitor me so I don’t strain myself or hurt the baby.”

Evgeni blinks. It takes a few seconds for his tired brain to process all the information. “Andy O’Brien?” he asks. “Your trainer from Cole Harbour?” He met the man a few times before they made the move to Pittsburgh; he definitely knows his trade.

“Yeah. And Mario says Rick Tocchet is around to run skating drills with me if I want. _Rick Tocchet_ , Geno,” Sidney says, reverent.

At least, Evgeni thinks dryly, it’s not Yzerman.

“What do you think? I mean, it won’t be anything close to playing, but. I don’t know. I think it could be good.”

“Yes,” Evgeni says firmly. “Should do, Sidka. Is good idea.” He’s surprised to see Sidney looking so eager about it, and reminds himself to call Mario later to thank him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Mario says kindly but firm when Evgeni finally finds the time to call. “It was my pleasure. Sidney is too talented to just sit on the sidelines for a year when there is still things he can work on.”

Evgeni agrees. And the baby isn’t due until early March, almost four months before the draft. If Sidney keeps up his conditioning for as long as possible during the pregnancy, and then starts working out in full a month or so after giving birth, there is no reason why he shouldn’t be ready in time for the draft.

Getting back to skating does Sidney a world of good, in any case.

Evgeni goes with him for his first appointment with Tocchet; it’s at ass o’clock in the morning, but he’s due for practice in a couple of hours anyway.

(Flower opts to not go with them.)

Tocchet is strict but fair, and surprisingly soft spoken. He says, “Show me your lateral skating,” and Sidney show him his lateral skating. He says, “Show me your edge work,” and Sidney shows him his edge work.

When he has Sidney running through an agility drill, he turns to Evgeni and says, “Look at him go. I could never do that. Could you?”

“Not like that,” Evgeni says, and it’s an easy confession; he’s not sure anyone else could.

When Tocchet whistles the end of the session, Sidney is hunched over, breath coming out in short pants. His cheeks are flushes red, and his hair is plastered against his forehead. It’s the happiest he’s looked in weeks.

“I can do this,” Sidney says, and Evgeni thinks he means more than just the skating. “Yes,” he agrees. “You can.”

**

When Sidney shows up for their next home game, Evgeni is pleased, but unsurprised. 

He scores his first hat trick of the season that night, and when Sidney kisses him in celebration after and says, “Show off,” Evgeni only shrugs and hugs him tighter.

It’s true, after all.

**

Come November, Sanja decides he wants to host an American Thanksgiving, which Flower takes such an offense to they end up having to celebrate a belated Canadian Thanksgiving as well.

“It was last month,” Sidney explains when Evgeni looks at him, bewildered. “You and Flower were in Portland for an away game and it just didn’t seem worth the hassle.”

Once Talbo and Army find out, they invite themselves along, and because Sanja despairs of all the baby Penguins that regularly hang out at their house, he invites half the guys on his own team.

Evgeni resigns himself to a full house of two Pennsylvanian teams getting all up in each other’s business, but as he and Flower return from their latest road trip and walk through the door with Army and Talbo on their tail, he’s pleasantly surprised to discover that only one Hershey player has had the opportunity to make the drive.

Evgeni recognises him from having played against him, but now he gets a name to go with the face.

“Brooks Laich,” the guy says as they shake hands. “Thanks for having me, man.”

“Geno,” Evgeni says, and then is promptly distracted by Sidney stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room.

He beams when he sees Evgeni. “Look at how fat I am!” he says. Sidney is twenty four weeks along now. He’s got that pregnancy glow Evgeni keeps reading about in all the _what to expect when expecting_ books; he looks radiant. Sidney cups his baby bump and stares down at it as if surprised it’s even there.

Evgeni certainly is. He’s only been gone for four days; he swears Sidney wasn’t that big when he left.

“Super fat,” he agrees.

Sidney laughs, delighted. “Oh, by the way, have you met Brooksie yet?” he asks, and Evgeni discovers that besides having seen each other a few times when Sidney has made the trip to Hershey with Sanja, they actually know each other from before.

“We met during Worlds in 2003,” Brooks offers at Evgeni’s surprised glance. “It was in Halifax.”

“I was home for Christmas,” Sidney adds, and then grimaces in discomfort. “Baby’s kicking again. She’s been active today. Here, feel.”

They don’t know that she’s a girl yet, but Evgeni has a feeling, and he keeps remembering Trina saying what an easy pregnancy Taylor had been. Ever since he got to tag along to Sidney’s first ultrasound, Evgeni has been referring to the baby as a girl. It just seemed weird to call the baby ‘it’ all the time. It didn’t take long for the rest of them to pick up on the female pronouns.

Evgeni reaches out for Sidney’s stomach. He’s just come back from a road trip; he’s exhausted and sore and feels as if he’s starving, but he’ll never turn down the chance to feel the baby move.

It’s humbling to know she’s alive in there, safely nestled inside Sidney’s belly. “How is princess today?”

“She’s good. Moving a lot. Vero thinks she has the hiccups. Or that she doesn’t like all the chocolate milk and is kicking to let me know.”

They hear Vero giggle from the kitchen. Evgeni can smell the turkey she’s got roasting in the oven. He feels his mouth water.

“Is all you drink, no wonder she kick,” Vero calls. “You need to drink something else.”

Sidney pouts. “But it’s so good, though.”

Evgeni makes a face. He doesn’t mind a glass of chocolate milk once in a while, especially after a hard workout, but it’s pretty much all Sidney drinks now. Steak, pizza, pasta...doesn’t matter. If he’s eating, he’s got a glass of chocolate milk.

“Should try tea,” Sanja suggests sagely, and laughs when Sidney wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“Or coffee,” Flower adds with a moan. He’s collapsed into a chair next to Sanja, a steaming mug of coffee in his hands. He claims it’s his life blood. Evgeni claims he’s full of shit. Talbo, who’s curled up in one corner of the couch, chirps him in French and calls him a loser.

Evgeni rolls his eyes, used the two of them bickering, and then catches Brooks eyeing them all with an amused look on his face.

“Is it always like this around here?”

“Pretty much,” Evgeni admits, because they usually have a house full of hockey players and the noise to go with it. At least it’s never boring.

Sidney tugs at Evgeni’s collar. “How did the game go? We were following along on the radio, but the streaming broke in the beginning of the third. Technical issues.”

Evgeni shrugs. “Was fine. We win game with one goal. Is good.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” Sidney says carefully.

Somewhere in the background, Evgeni notices that Sanja has turned on the TV and is talking to Army, and Brooks has found a place next to Talbo.

Army, and Brooks has found a place next to Talbo. 

There is always people around in the house, and that’s how he likes it usually, but there are times he wishes it was just him and Sidney again. The way it had been for those months in Magnitogorsk after they had gotten married.

“I miss you out there,” he tells Sidney, switching over to Russian and lowering his voice in a semblance of some privacy. “It’s not the same without you. I got so used to playing on your wing, it almost feels weird centering my own line now.”

“Geno,” Sidney says, all fond indulgence. He tilts his face up for a kiss, and Evgeni happily obliges. “Is just one season. Next season, we play together.” He’s been more relaxed about his sabbatical since he started skating again. Being on the ice and working towards a tangible goal seems to help motivate him to get through the year.

Still, Evgeni can’t help but frown worriedly. “You don’t know that, Sidka. You could be drafted anywhere.” He desperately wants it to be Pittsburgh, but the likelihood of the Penguins getting the first pick seems astronomical, and even then there is no guarantee they’d draft Sidney first, much as Mario has basically made them part of his family.

Sidney shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter where I go. I want only sign with Pittsburgh.” He hesitates for a moment, worrying his lower lip between his teeth and looking down at his stomach with a wry look on his face. “If they even want me after I have baby.”

There is no guarantee that they will, and the uncertainty of that is terrifying. Evgeni keeps that to himself, though. “You’ll still be the best player available,” he says, because that is true regardless of the pregnancy, and he won’t lie and make promises that may not come true. Not to himself, and especially not to Sidney.

He won’t say, “Of course the Pens will want you,” as much as he hopes—prays—that they do.

**

None of them go home during Christmas break.

Sidney has entered his seventh month of pregnancy and doesn’t want to risk flying even though his doctor says he can, and Evgeni is not about to make his husband do anything he doesn’t feel comfortable with.

Vero and Flower claim it won’t be worth the time and cost of a round trip to Quebec, and Sanja doesn’t feel like going back home to Russia on his own.

“Flight too long,” he says.

Sidney is ecstatic. Last year, they’d been so busy with games and preparing for Worlds that they hadn’t had the time to make a big deal out of it. This year, Sidney obviously can’t play for Team Canada, and while Sanja had been selected to represent Russia at Worlds, he’d turn them down because Evgeni hadn’t been.

Evgeni feels the sting of that keenly, but can’t pretend to be surprised, not when Velichkin is Team Russia’s GM this year—he’s being punished for choosing Sidney and the Penguins even if Velichkin will never admit to that aloud.

Not being at Worlds, though, means they have time to celebrate Christmas properly.

Even knowing so, Evgeni still finds it in himself to be surprised to come home to find the house covered in Christmas decorations like something straight out of a magazine. He can even smell the scent of freshly baked goods.

“Store bought,” Sidney confesses readily, and this, at least, does not surprise Evgeni. Sidney doesn’t cook, and he definitely doesn’t bake—not like Evgeni, who can whip up a carrot cake like a _champ_.

All they are missing is a tree and Christmas lights because, “We should choose a tree together, all of us,” and, “Vero is afraid of heights, and I probably shouldn’t be climbing a ladder anytime soon; we figured it’d be best to wait for you guys to put up the lights.”

Which is how Evgeni ends up on a ladder outside in the freezing cold on a December evening with Sanja and Flower chirping about how useless he is and how none of the Christmas lights are actually even.

It’s not as if either of them volunteered to climb up the ladder though, so Evgeni cheerfully tells them to fuck off and to hand him another bundle of lights.

Choosing a tree goes somewhat more smoothly. Mostly they let Vero handle it, because she’s the only decent haggler among them, and they end up with a reasonably good-looking tree that Evgeni thinks is kind of perfect once they manage to haul it into their living room, even if it does tilt to one side a little and none of the decorations match because no one could agree on what colour scheme they should pick.

In the end they’d walked into a store and bought whatever baubles and tinsels caught their eye and now the tree looks _exactly_ as if five different people decorated it.

Evgeni hadn’t even known that Christmas trees were supposed to _have_ a colour scheme. He much prefers this.

Sidney does too. “I like it,” he says when it’s just the two of them, sitting on the couch and drinking chocolate milk as they look at the tree. “It’s ours, you know. It’s good. I want a tree like this next year too. When the baby is here, and in the future, with the other kids.”

Evgeni smiles, watching Sidney rub circles on his stomach. He feels content and happy in a way he’ll never grow tired off. “Other kids?” he says. “We have more than one?”

“Some day, in the future. Don’t you want that? Or this one will end up a monster, I think. Too many people to spoil her.” Sidney looks up at Evgeni with his pretty, hazel eyes, and all Evgeni can think of is a house full of kids with Sidney’s eyes and dark curls.

He doesn’t think anything could be better than that.

**

Evgeni gets a bouquet of roses on his one-year wedding anniversary. From his teammates.

“To bring home to Sid,” Talbo says with a shiteating grin, because he is an ass like that. “We figured you’d forget.”

Evgeni _has_ forgotten, but he will admit that only over his dead, cold body. He can’t believe he hasn’t remembered their first anniversary. He has a game that night, but that’s no excuse.

They lose the game, but Sidney looks pleased by the roses even if he does raise his brows when Evgeni hands them over, as if to ask, _What the hell am I meant to do with these?_ , and that makes it better.

So does the chocolate cake Sidney ordered them for the occasion, and the beautiful TAG Heuer watch with the square glass he gives to Evgeni.

“I know paper is supposed to be the one-year gift or whatever, but I figured you’d like the watch better.”

Evgeni does like the watch. He loves it, actually. It’s the kind of watch he would have picked out himself; big and loud and just a little bit gaudy. He can so easily picture the face Sidney had made when he bought it, knowing that even if _he_ thought it was hideous, Evgeni was going to love it.

The guilt he feels at not having anything to give Sidney in return is almost overwhelming, and the fact that he hasn’t gifted Sidney anything beyond the roses is so telling that Sidney smirks and says, “You forgot, didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Evgeni says miserably. “I’m worst husband. So bad.”

Sidney laughs and shakes his head. “I forgot too,” he confesses. “I was talking to Mom on the phone the other day; she’s the one who reminded me. Said she can’t believe it’s been a year already.”

“But the watch...?”

“I bought it in Helsinki after we got married. Do you remember the day we were leaving? Talbo and I went to the mall. I’ve been holding onto it for a year now.”

Which makes it so much worse. Sidney rarely gets this sentimental; Evgeni feels gutted.

He must make a face, because Sidney laughs again and tugs at his hand gently, until Evgeni is close enough for Sidney to lift his hands and cup Evgeni’s cheeks between his palms and say, “It’s okay, G. Please don’t be upset about this. I’m not, okay? You’ve been busy, we both have. Let’s just enjoy tonight and then you can go crazy with whatever gift you want later, okay?”

And Sidney knows him well, because Evgeni has already decided that he’s going to need three hundred and sixty-five gifts to make up for his failure—one gift for each day that they’ve been married, of course—but it only takes four days, a book on military history, an Ipod, a pair of shoes, and a shipment of Russian chocolate before Sidney catches on to what Evgeni is doing and promptly shuts him down.

Sidney makes Evgeni return the shoes—“They’re not really my style, G. I’m never going to wear them”—and maybe the gold trimmings had been a bit much, but Sidney keeps the book and the Ipod, and he decimates the chocolate in under an hour.

Evgeni decides it’ll just have to do. (Next year, he’ll be better prepared.)

**

WBS goes through a painful losing streak in the new year. They win only two games in all of January, and then lose a home and home against Hershey.

Flower is tight-lipped, his shoulders so tense with worry and frustration that Sanja doesn’t even chirp them about it.

Evgeni overhears Sidney quietly thanking him for keeping his gloating to himself.

February starts with another three losses, and Evgeni gets so used to gritting his teeth that it almost hurts to unclench his jaw when Sidney gently coaxes him to relax one night in bed.

He’s pressing sweet kisses to the underside of Evgeni’s chin, whispering promises into his skin:

“It will get better. The puck will start finding the back of the net, and then the wins will come. You just have to keep doing what you’re doing and trust that things will turn around soon.”

And that is such a practiced media-ready answer, something Evgeni has been telling reporters for weeks already, he feels his hackles rise automatically.

“Not soon enough,” he snaps back in Russian, and when he feels Sidney go very, carefully still where he’s pressed up against him, Evgeni forces himself to take several deep breaths. He counts to ten, slowly, to make sure the next thing he says won’t be something he can’t take back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he is, even with all the frustration simmering beneath his skin. Like an itch he can’t scratch. It’s not Sidney’s fault that they’re losing, but it’s so very easy for Evgeni to let himself go with him. Sidney is the only one he trusts to see him like this; sullen and angry at himself, at his team.

Angry with Army and Talbo for not scoring on the chances he’s giving them. Angry at himself for not scoring on his own.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just...you’re not telling me anything new. I know this already. I’m just frustrated.”

Sidney is silent for a moment, but he doesn’t pull away. He never does, no matter how many times Evgeni snaps at him or gets short with him.

He’s ashamed to admit that it’s happened quite a few times since the losing streak began.

“At least you play hockey,” Sidney says quietly, and he too switches over to Russian now, because he’s a much better husband than Evgeni deserves and he knows that it helps Evgeni relax to hear his native language. Even if it is in Sidney’s spotty accent.

 _Especially_ if it is in Sidney’s spotty accent.

Evgeni feels a rush of guilt and shame well up in him. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “You’re right. I’m just being a jerk.”

“If you know you being a jerk, choose not to be.” 

Evgeni winces at Sidney’s exasperated reprimand. Sidney is one of the most patient people Evgeni knows, but even he has his limits. He has always believed strongly in accountability, in leading by example, and he’s right; Evgeni knows he’s been a jerk lately. He can choose not to be.

His team is losing, badly, but he still has hockey—he still has teammates and coaches that look to him to weather the storm and guide them through this rough patch.

Evgeni is not the captain, but he wears an ‘A’, and he’s the best player on that team. Because Sidney isn’t out there with him, and that makes all the difference.

Evgeni doesn’t fool himself. He wants to be the best, strives for it, but after a year of playing alongside Sidney, of seeing the way he works at his game, the way he betters himself, the way he helps _others_ better themselves, he can admit that Sidney has an edge on him, slight as it may be. He thinks in the future, that edge may grow even sharper, and isn’t that just the most terrifying thought? That as good as Sidney is now, he still hasn’t peaked. Won’t peak for years, probably.

“I’m sorry,” he says one more time. Besides the baby and Evgeni, there isn’t anything in the world Sidney loves more than hockey, and he’s temporarily stepped away from the game for their sake, for their family’s sake. Evgeni knows himself, and he knows that he wouldn’t have handled a year away from hockey with half the amount of grace and dignity that Sidney has shown. He feels just a little bit guiltier. “I won’t be a jerk anymore. I promise.”

Sidney lifts his brows, clearly sceptical, and Evgeni amends, “I promise to _try_ not to be a jerk anymore,” and at that, Sidney finally cracks a smile at him.

“Might be hard,” he teases, and the way he relaxes against Evgeni’s side makes some of the tension in Evgeni’s shoulders ease.

“Maybe,” Evgeni says, but as he wraps his arms around him and bends to press his lips to Sidney’s forehead, he promises himself it won’t be; Sidney deserves better than a husband who takes his frustrations out on him, and that’s what he’ll get.

**

“There. See? You’re angling your body towards the boards and it’s making you smaller. If you push the other way, you’ll give yourself a greater angle and you’ll have a better chance of boxing him out.”

Evgeni narrows his eyes at the screen, trying to see what Sidney sees. “But I’m keep puck. Other guy can’t get around.”

“Sure,” Sidney says, and he lets the video resume before pausing two seconds later. “And there you lose it. You’re trying to retrieve the puck to push away from the boards, right? But you’re so close there is no space for you. It slows you down, and that’s why he gets the puck once you turn. If you’d cut off _his_ angle by making yourself bigger, you’d have more room to work with.”

“More room to move skates,” Evgeni agrees, because he sees it then, the way he can protect the puck by making subtle shifts in his body movement. He grins over at Sidney, feeling something warm and happy inside of him to find Sidney beaming back at him.

Coach Therrien had eyed the two of them dubiously when they’d come to the rink on a day off and Evgeni had asked for the keys to the video room.

“Want to watch tape. See how to improve,” he’d told him, and after eyeing Sidney’s stomach as if he would pop any minute now, Therrien had relented and handed over the keys.

“Don’t break anything,” was all he said before walking off.

At least there had been no mutterings about _fucking teenagers_ , Evgeni thinks with a smile. Sometimes he misses Coach Sýkora a lot.

He’d been a good coach, both for their team in Magnitogorsk and the national team, but Sidney is probably the best video coach Evgeni has ever had. His vision and natural aptitude for hockey lets him see plays where others can’t.

Evgeni used to be jealous of that. Of the two of them, Evgeni is probably the more skilled one, the one with the raw talent, but talent alone doesn’t mean anything if it’s not refined, if he doesn’t put in the work.

Evgeni is by no means a slacker, but he’s never met anyone who works at their game the way Sidney does. Even with the pregnancy, Sidney has faithfully been sticking to the workout plan Andy and Tocchet created for him once he got over his earlier anxieties. He skated with Tocchet and worked out with Andy on a regularly basis until his doctor deemed him too far along to run speed drills. Now he only gets to skate at a leisure pace, and then only if he’s got someone with him. Usually, it’s Talbo if Tocchet’s not around.

Staying off the ice has probably been the biggest challenge for him.

Evgeni can’t find it in himself to be jealous when Sidney is the one who doesn’t get to play. When he has to contend with being on the sidelines, watching Evgeni chase both of their dreams.

He only needs to remind himself of that to work just a little bit harder.

“Geno,” Sidney says. He’s looking at Evgeni expectantly. “Are you listening?” 

Evgeni smiles. “Always listen to you.” 

**

They’re late buying baby stuff. Very late.

Evgeni had suggested earlier in the pregnancy if they shouldn’t be considering looking at cribs and changing tables and the million other things a baby needs, but Sidney had been hesitant.

He didn’t want to buy something too soon and then jinx it.

Evgeni still isn’t sure that’s how it works, but Sidney had been adamant and Evgeni knows Trina suffered through more than one miscarriage between Sidney and Taylor; the doctor hadn’t actually said that a tendency towards miscarriages was hereditary, but the panicked look on Sidney’s face had been enough for Evgeni not to pursue the topic, and so he had let it go.

At eight months pregnant, Sidney is finally ready to shop.

As it turns out, buying baby stuff is a lot more complicated than Evgeni had expected. First of all, he had no idea that he felt so strongly about baby carriages, and second, everything is so, so expensive.

“A car and two houses later, and shopping for the baby is what’s gonna break the bank for us,” Sidney murmurs darkly as he goes over the numbers.

Evgeni makes a face, because the truth of that is kind of ridiculous.

“Why so expensive?” he wonders as he leafs through a baby catalogue Vero had come home with the other day.

“It has everything you need for the baby,” she’d claimed, and Evgeni had snorted at this, frankly, outrageous statement, because the list of baby stuff they have yet to buy seems never ending and is growing bigger by the day.

“Look!” he exclaims in Russian, pointing at a little dress that costs more money than such a small piece of fabric has any right to. “The baby won’t even be able to wear it for more than a few months before it’ll be too small. How can they even justify that kind of price?”

“I know,” Sidney commiserates, and then lifts his head to actually look at the dress and promptly loses his cool. “Oh my god, that is adorable. We have to buy.”

“I already ordered it in three different colours,” Evgeni admits sheepishly, which is probably excessive, even for him, but his baby is going to look badass. Pink lace and frilly ruffles and all.

“Geno,” Sidney says reprovingly. It’s only a token protest though, and Sidney looks pleased if anything as he abandons his work to settle next to Evgeni on the couch.

They’re alone for once, Flower and Vero off on a date, and Sanja on a road trip with his team. Evgeni had tried tempting Sidney into a night of lazing on the couch, watching bad movies and eating greasy takeout (with a glass or two of chocolate milk). Sidney had accepted the greasy takeout and the chocolate milk, but insisted on going over their finances before relaxing with Evgeni now that the baby is almost here. They’re both adamant about setting up a college fund for her, and Sidney is better with numbers, so Evgeni mostly leaves him to it.

They know their strengths and weaknesses; anything involving a certain level of math Evgeni tends to let Sidney handle. If it’s geography, Evgeni is in charge. He’s long since learnt not to trust Sidney’s sense of direction or to let him handle a map.

(Sidney, who once asked what the capital of South America was, is mostly accepting of this.)

Jeffrey lifts his head from his corner of the couch, eyeing them with interest until Sidney is settled and doesn’t look to be getting up anytime soon. Only then does the dog rise, stretching his limbs and cracking his jaw open for a massive yawn before he inches closer. The cushions of the sofa dip with the force of his weight.

He’s only a year old, but he’s already massive, and he will only get bigger the older he gets.

Jeffrey finally collapses next to Sidney with a huff and nudges at his thigh hopefully.

Evgeni rolls his eyes when Sidney immediately lifts a hand to pet Jeffrey’s great head.

“You spoil him. How he act when baby is here? Will be so jealous. Take up all of your time.”

“No, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Sidney coos at Jeffrey. “Geno is the one who’ll be jealous, isn’t he? He’ll go from number two to number three.”

“Hey.” Evgeni pinches Sidney’s side gently in punishment, but Sidney just snickers.

“What? It’s true. There is a pecking order, and it goes baby, Jeffrey, and you.” He ticks the list off on his fingers, giving Evgeni a winning smile and looking cuter than he has any right to, Evgeni thinks, when he’s chirping at him like this.

“At least I’m top three,” Evgeni says wryly, and doesn’t mind at all being the butt of the joke when Sidney laughs so sweetly.

**

“Oh my god, it’s so gross, is like an alien,” Flower says gleefully. 

Evgeni punches him in the arm. “My baby not an alien.”

“It is kinda gross, though,” Sidney says as he looks down at his stomach and the ripples across his flesh that means their baby is moving. As if responding to Sidney’s voice, the baby kicks, and not even Evgeni can keep the grimace off his face at the clearly visible outline of a little baby foot beneath the taut skin of Sidney’s belly.

It does look like something from out of an alien movie. 

“Dude,” Flower says, impressed. 

Sidney grins and tugs down his shirt. “She does that sometimes. I couldn’t even feel her before week twenty, but now she won’t stop moving. Always kicking and turning. It’s gotten to the point where my ribs hurt now, ‘cause she keeps hitting the same spot.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Not really. Just a lot of aches and discomfort. My doctor is monitoring it, so it should be fine.” 

Flower hums. He’s quiet for a second, and when Sidney’s stomach ripples again, visible even from beneath his shirt, he asks, “Does it feel weird?”

Sidney frowns, thoughtful. He strokes a hand over his stomach absently, a habit that is so second-nature by now it’s as if he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Evgeni smiles fondly at the sight.

“I guess. I don’t really have anything to compare it to, and I’ve gotten used to it now anyway. I get anxious if it goes too long and she _doesn’t_ move now. I keep drinking OJ to make sure she’s still alive in there.”

From across the room, Sanja snorts and lifts his brows. “You drink orange juice and she moves?”

Sidney nods. “It raises my blood sugar levels, so she gets an extra kick out of it too.”

Evgeni bends his head to nuzzle Sidney’s hair. “Give her sugar high,” he whispers against Sidney’s temple. “She happy, so have party in your stomach.”

Sidney turns to him with a grin. He tilts his head up for a kiss, laughing against Evgeni’s mouth when he obliges dutifully. “You think she’s dancing in there?”

“Yes,” Evgeni says. “Or practice skating. Move feet for drill.”

“What if she doesn’t want to play hockey?”

Evgeni thinks this is unlikely, but it’s not as if the thought hasn’t occurred to him. He wants to put her in skates early, because hockey is in her blood regardless, but if she wants to be a dancer or play soccer or whatever else instead, then he’ll make that happen.

No one is going to force his little girl into doing anything she doesn’t want to do.

“Then she not play hockey,” he says simply, and knows that is the right answer from the way Sidney’s eyes go soft and he draws Evgeni in for another kiss.

**

In late February, WBS’ losing streak finally becomes a winning streak, and Sidney has gotten so big he no longer comes to their home games and has stopped working out altogether.

He’s big and miserable and always hot even at the tail end of winter.

“Everything hurts,” he says whenever Evgeni asks him how he’s feeling. “And I’m tired, G. I just want to sleep so bad.”

He hasn’t really been able to since he reached eight months. More often than not, he ends up sleeping upright, and Evgeni feels guilty just looking at him.

“You should,” Sidney tells him. “It’s one hundred per cent your fault I’m like this,” which is irrational and only half true, but Sidney always softens the accusation with a kiss and a weary smile, so Evgeni doesn’t really mind being made out to be the scapegoat.

“Are you really not skating at all?” Army asks when he comes around for dinner and a round of Mario Kart. “I thought pregnant people could exercise all the way up to the due date as long as they’re healthy.”

Sidney shrugs. “I mean, I could potentially lose my balance and hurt the baby, or end up giving birth at the rink. I wouldn’t mind her being born there, honestly, but my doctor advised against it,” he says, and Evgeni, who’s heard this more than once already, rolls his eyes so hard it physically aches.

“You give birth at hospital,” he says firmly. “Where there are doctors,” he adds pointedly. Army grins at them.

In the end, Sidney ends up giving birth at home while Evgeni is stuck in traffic because Sidney had sent him out for more chocolate milk; there’s a traffic accident on the way home and Evgeni gets trapped along with two dozen other drivers—none of them as frustrated as him.

They’re incredibly lucky that their neighbour three houses down the street is a midwife, that he’s home, and that Vero is around to flag him down.

Evgeni is never letting Sidney forget about this.

“Chocolate milk!” he exclaims in Russian when he finally makes it to the hospital where an ambulance had brought Sidney and the baby. “I missed the birth of our child because you wanted chocolate milk.” And he’s crying, and Sidney is crying, and Evgeni can’t even be mad because that is their beautiful little girl in Sidney’s arms and she is the best thing Evgeni has ever seen in his entire life.

“I can’t believe we made her,” he says when he gets to hold her for the first time. “She’s so perfect.” He tears his eyes away from her tiny, beautiful face to look at Sidney, feeling so much love for this silly boy who sent him out for chocolate milk and made him miss the birth of their daughter; sometimes, in moments like these, Evgeni thinks he’s loved Sidney all his life.

“You did so good, Sidka. I’m sorry I wasn’t there with you.”

Sidney smiles tiredly. “Not your fault.” He doesn’t say, _It was mine_ , and Evgeni knows he never will, but it feels implied and Evgeni will accept the concession for what it is.

Sanja is the one who points out the irony of WBS giving him leave for a few days to be there for the birth, only for Evgeni to miss it entirely. The team was going on a five-day road trip starting two days from Sidney’s due date, and Evgeni hadn’t wanted to chance it.

He so badly wanted to be there for the birth of his child. He cannot _believe_ he missed it.

“Shut up,” Evgeni hisses at him, making sure to keep his voice low enough so he doesn’t wake the baby in his arms or Sidney, gently snoring in his hospital bed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny,” Sanja says, and Evgeni probably would have thought so too if he wasn’t so bitter about it.

Maybe in a few years he’ll be able to look back at it and laugh.

“Have you told your parents yet? The Crosbys? Flower?”

Evgeni nods. “Vero texted Flower earlier, and I just got off the phone with Mama before you arrived. I’m waiting for Sidney to wake to call his parents.”

Sanja is quiet for a moment. Evgeni can feel his eyes on him, but he’s too enraptured by his baby to care.

Finally, Sanja says, “I could take her, if you wanted to call them.”

Evgeni blinks over at him. He watches as Sanja’s eyes flit from Sidney to the baby and back again. “You sure? I’d have to step out into the hall. They don’t want us using cell phones in here.”

“She’s my goddaughter, isn’t she? We should get to know each other. I’ll watch over her.” Sanja gives a nonchalant shrug.

Evgeni stares at him, and then, he smiles. “Yeah. I guess she is.”

**

They keep Sidney and the baby in the hospital for two days before they’re allowed to go home. Their daughter was born on March 3, the day before the due date, and is in perfect health, but Sidney had lost more blood during the delivery than the doctors would have liked, and because it had been a home birth and he’s so young, they want to keep him for observation.

Sidney grumbles and insists he’s fine, if not a little tired, but Evgeni glares him into submission. “You do as doctor say.”

Sanja is the one who picks them up—not in his own Rover, but the one Evgeni had finally gone out and bought once Sidney got too big to sit comfortably in the Porsche.

“Ready to go?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Sidney says, and once he’s handed Evgeni the baby, he practically leaps out of the wheelchair he’d been forced into because of “Hospital policy, Mr. Crosby.”

They arrive home with little fanfare. The baby slept through the ride, which they’re all thankful for; at two days old, they’ve already learnt she’s got a set of lungs on her. Sidney slept too. He’s still dealing with some fatigue from the birth.

“Sweetheart.” Evgeni shakes his shoulder gently, hating that he has to wake him but knowing Sidney would prefer their own bed rather than sleeping upright in the car. “We’re home. Come on, Sidka. You can sleep in our bed.”

“Geno? The baby...?” Sidney blinks at him tiredly.

“She’s right here,” Evgeni says quietly. “I have her.”

Sidney’s eyes settle on where Evgeni is holding their daughter, and he smiles softly. “Look good with her,” he tells him. “Love you.” His words are slightly slurred, and he sounds drunk, almost, which is how Evgeni knows he’s exhausted, his earlier surge of energy from getting to leave the hospital all but waned now.

Evgeni chuckles. “Come on, sleepy, let’s get you to bed.”

Sidney sleeps for nine hours straight.

(Evgeni is so very glad they had thought to have bottled milk prepared.) 

**

It takes them a week, but they name her Elena Crosby-Malkin. 

It’s hard to tell who she takes after yet, but that hardly matters, and Evgeni declares her to be the most beautiful little girl to ever be born. He is probably a little biased, but all of his teammates think so too when they see her for the first time, so he figures there must be some truth to it. Even Coach Therrien thinks she’s a beauty.

Introducing her to his team also has the unfortunate side effect of Elena being nicknamed Lenny. Evgeni isn’t sure who started it, but he suspects Army.

(He _loves_ Lenny Kravitz.)

Evgeni hates that the name sticks.

**

Taking care of a baby is hard, even in a household where they outnumber the baby five to one, and even when she’s healthy—Lenny had gotten colic at just over a month old, and the three weeks it lasted was the worst time of Evgeni’s life.

Nothing they did would make Lenny stop crying, and she wasn’t actually sick in a way that could be treated; the colic just had to run its course. All they could do was make sure Lenny was as comfortable as possible.

Evgeni has never in his life felt as frustrated and scared as he had watching his baby cry and cry in discomfort—it’d been worse for Sidney, who didn’t have games and practices to give him a break from all the crying.

“I don’t understand,” Vero says during dinner one day. “All she do is sleep and eat and poop. How is one baby so much work?”

“No one knows,” Flower mutters darkly.

Lenny offers him a toothless grin. She seems perfectly content from her seat in the baby sling Sidney’s got wrapped around his torso.

Evgeni tries to rack his brain for the last time he saw Sidney without the sling, but comes up short.

“Remember when I said I wanted more kids?” Sidney asks Evgeni. “I take it back. We’ll just have to make do with this one.” He strokes a gentle hand over the short tufts of hair on Lenny’s head, dark like Sidney’s, and looks so soft and so in love with her that Evgeni knows not to take him seriously.

She’s ten weeks old now, more work than either of them had imagined, but they both agree she’s the best thing that has ever happened to them.

“She need little brother or sister,” Evgeni says in Lenny’s defense, even though he knows Sidney isn’t actually serious.

“Should wait until Lenny no longer need diaper,” is Sanja’s advice, and as if on cue, Lenny lets out a loud fart and promptly starts squealing, because she thinks the sound is the most hilarious thing ever.

Evgeni groans. He doesn’t understand how someone so small can poop so much.

“Speaking of, eh?” Sidney says tiredly. “Come on, let’s get your diaper changed.”

Evgeni catches his wrist as he walks past him. “Need help?”

Sidney smiles and shakes his head. “Make sure there’s still some left when I get back?” he asks instead, and Evgeni glances at the half eaten slice of pizza on his plate.

Sidney’s eating habits have been sporadic ever since Lenny was born. He spends most meal times making sure Lenny gets her milk first, and then grabs something to eat whenever he can find the time.

Evgeni frowns as he watches him leave, feeling the guilt of letting Sidney shoulder the brunt of the responsibility. He’s losing the baby weight quickly, and Evgeni worries, but there’s not much he can do while he’s still playing, his time being eaten up by practices and games and travel. They’re in the playoffs now. He just has to get through it, and then he’ll have all the time in the world for Lenny and Sidney both.

At least Vero is there to help, thank god. And Sanja, whose team did not make the playoffs at all.

And Jeffrey, though he is mostly indifferent to the baby other than whining miserably when she’s crying because he doesn’t understand why she’s upset.

It would have been adorable if not for all the noise.

That night, Lenny wakes them up three times before dawn. Evgeni has a game in the evening, but each time, he whispers for Sidney to go back to sleep and looks after her himself. “I got this,” he tells Sidney.

He’s barely able to stand upright at morning skate, he’s so tired the next day, but it was worth it for the way Sidney ushered him out the door that morning with Lenny in his arms, offering Evgeni soft, gentle kisses and a, “I love you. Good luck tonight.”

Evgeni has two goals that night. They win the game, but lose the series, and just like that they’re out of the playoffs.

Somehow, it stings less than last year.

**

When Lenny is just over three months old, they take a road trip to Canada for Sidney’s combine. They probably could have made it in five hours, but it takes them eight and a half to reach Toronto with the amount of stops they need.

Lenny takes the trip well for the most part—nothing calms her like chilling in her baby seat in the backseat of a car—but she’s still a baby who poops and eats a lot.

“Aren’t you glad we got the Rover now?” Sidney asks somewhere after Buffalo, and Evgeni is, because the crap that somehow classifies as baby essentials would never have made it into the Porsche.

Plus the Rover has enough space for Jeffrey and his travel cage, but Evgeni has no intention of admitting that.

It’s a matter of pride.

They meet up with Barry and Brisson outside of the hotel they’ll be staying in for the next four days.

When Barry sees Lenny in the baby sling around Sidney’s chest, he says, “So this is the little one?” to which Sidney replies, “You’re absolutely sure I’m invited, right? Like, I’m not gonna just show up and crash the combine? People know I’m coming?”

“Yes, Sidney,” Brisson says patiently. Evgeni is a little impressed by the lack of exasperation in his voice; Sidney has been calling him about this ever since the NHL sent out the invites. “People know you’re coming. Now let us meet your daughter. Elena, right?”

“We call her Lenny,” Sidney says proudly, and doesn’t look nearly as vexed by that as Evgeni is, even if the name is kind of starting to grow on him. “She’s awesome. We’re pretty sure she’s a genius.”

Barry laughs at that. “I think all parents think so.” He closes his hand around one of Lenny’s chubby fists, and gently shakes her hand. “Hello, Lenny. I’m JP. I’m your papa’s agent.”

Lenny blows raspberries.

Evgeni beams. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being reminded that he’s this perfect little girl’s papa.

“You look good, Sid,” Brisson says after making his own introduction. “Looking at you, I can’t even tell you gave birth a few months ago. Andy tells me he doesn’t think the combine should be a problem for you.”

“I guess.” Sidney shrugs, modest, but Evgeni isn’t fooled for a second.

Sidney is proud of the way he’s bounced back to his pre-pregnant body, as he should be; Evgeni hasn’t seen anyone work the way Sidney had once he was given the all-clear by his doctors to start training again. Andy even flew down a second time for the occasion.

With Andy helping him, Sidney’s schedule for the last three months or so has consisted of Lenny, sleeping, eating, and working out.

It’s been difficult for Evgeni and Sidney to find time for just the two of them among everything else; they haven’t even had sex since before Lenny was born, which is a tragedy Evgeni can’t bring himself to resent too much.

They’ve both been too exhausted for anything more than gentle make-out sessions.

After the combine they’ll drive on to Cole Harbour, though, where they’ll spend part of their summer before the draft. Cole Harbour means grandparents and babysitters and Evgeni and his dick is honestly so excited at the prospect of some alone time with his husband he doesn’t even have the words to express it properly.

Barry and Brisson share a look at Sidney’s deflection.

“Somehow,” Brisson says, “I think you’ll do just fine.”

**

The combine takes three days, and at the end of it, Sidney is ranked at the very top of the prospect pool.

Evgeni is so proud he blows Sidney in the bathroom of their hotel room once they’ve put Lenny down for a nap and Jeffrey is snoring in his dog cage.

“I’m have to buy Andy house or something for thank you,” Sidney tells him later, curled up against Evgeni in bed. “Couldn’t do without him.”

Evgeni shakes his head. “You would have,” he says, and when Sidney pulls a face, he adds, “Sidka. I’m sure Andy was super helpful, and I’ll always be grateful for what he’s done for you, but I’m one hundred per cent positive that you would have made it on your own if you had to. You’re going to be in the NHL, Sidka. I believe that.”

Sidney hasn’t played professionally hockey in a full season, but only a fool team wouldn’t want him on their roster. If nothing else, the combine has shown that.

Sidney doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he says, “I love you,” and smiles so sweetly Evgeni feels his breath hitch.

“I love you more,” he answers back.

“Love you most,” Sidney says with a laugh and his eyes glinting mischievously, and Evgeni could say, _I love you times infinity_ , but this is a competition neither of them will win.

**

Before they leave Toronto, they meet up with Brent Burns for lunch.

“Dude,” he’d said when he called up Evgeni on his phone. “I live, like, an hour outside of Toronto. We should totally meet up when Sid isn’t busy with the combine. Do you have time before you move on? Also, dude, you have a _baby_.”

Burnsie is dutifully delighted to meet Lenny, but seems more excited about the dog.

Jeffrey, who’s been feeling a little neglected lately, is ecstatic.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you guys since Helsinki. I had hoped we’d be able to meet up when I heard you went to the AHL, but Houston and WBS didn’t even play each other.” Burnsie shrugs in a _what can you do?_ kind of way. “And you have a baby now. And a dog!”

Sidney laughs. “Well. Hockey players start their families young, right?”

“Not this young,” Burnsie says, but he’s smiling and scratching at Jeffrey’s ear. “So what are your plans for the rest of the summer?”

“We’re driving up to Cole Harbour. We have a house there, and my parents and sister are there. They’ll be meeting Lenny for the first time. We’ll hang out there until the draft, I guess.”

Evgeni nods. “My parents fly in too. They make trip in a week.”

“Cool. I’m going to spend the summer looking for a place in Minnesota. I shared with a couple of other rookies my first year, but that was more than a year ago now, you know? We didn’t make the playoffs that season, and I skipped town as soon as the regular season was over.”

Sidney and Evgeni share a knowing look.

“We’ve done a bit of everything; we stayed with Geno’s parents in Russia for a while, then had our own apartment, and then shared a house with three others this year,” Sidney says. “It was good having people around during the pregnancy and when Lenny was born, but I think we’re looking forward to get back to our house in Pittsburgh. We only got to live there for a few weeks last summer before we had to move to Wilkes-Barre.”

Burnsie eyes them curiously for a moment. “You’re going back to Pittsburgh no matter what?”

Sidney bites his lips, looking worried, and it’s Evgeni who says, “We hope,” because if it was up to them, that’s what would happen, but there is still so much out of their control.

It seems a foregone conclusion now that Sidney will be drafted, but they have no idea which team that will be even if he is picked first.

Technically, the League is still in a lockout; everyone is silently assuming that they’ll play the 2005-2006 season, but it’s not a definite.

Maybe there won’t be a draft at all and all of their worrying will have been for nothing.

It’s not completely inconceivable, and they’ve talked about the possibility with their agents, with Mario, and Therrien. If the lockout carries into the new season, Sidney will sign with WBS as a free, undrafted agent, and Evgeni will finally be able to play with his husband again.

It won’t be perfect, but at least they’ll be together.

Burnsie offers them a tentative smile. “I hope it works out, then.” 

**

Troy cries the first time he meets Lenny.

He holds her as if she is someone infinitely precious, and won’t let go even when she starts crying for a diaper change.

“I changed your diaper,” he tells Sidney. “I think I can change my granddaughter’s.”

Sidney rolls his eyes, but he still hovers anxiously, making sure that Troy does everything to his standards.

Evgeni leaves them to it.

“She’s beautiful. She looks like you, you know,” Troy tells him later, when they’re putting Lenny down for a nap, and Evgeni smiles, because at almost four months, Lenny has Sidney’s colouring, but her features are all Evgeni, from her sleepy eyes to her soft chin.

Troy claps him on the shoulder. “You did good, son,” he says. “I’m proud of you, both of you.”

Of all the adults in their lives, Troy is the one who questioned their decision to have a baby, who confronted them about how difficult it was going to be; he was also the first one to say, “If this is really want you want, then I’ll support you.”

He’s always been the one in their corner, ever since he agreed to sign the paper that allowed Evgeni to marry Sidney.

Evgeni isn’t sure he’s ever really thanked him for that before. So, “Thank you,” he says now, and if he chokes up on the words, Troy is nice enough not to mention it.

**

On July 13, they’ve been back in Cole Harbour for a full month, Lenny has forever endeared herself to both sets of grandparents (Taylor prefers Jeffrey, to be honest; she thinks Lenny is kind of boring), and Barry and Brisson call to let them know that the NHL and NHLPA have finally come to an agreement; the lockout is ending.

Nine days later, a ping pong ball determines which team gets the right to the first draft pick. Unbelievably, it’s Pittsburgh.

**

“Listen,” Evgeni says. He’s bouncing Lenny on his knee, watching from the bed as Sidney paces back and forth across the floor of their hotel room. The whole family has flown out to Ottawa for Sidney’s draft, and while Lenny had made her objection against planes both loudly and insistently, not even their daughter’s distress had been enough to distract Sidney from worrying for more than a few minutes at a time. His anxiety got worse once they reached the hotel.

“Even if the Penguins don’t draft you first, no matter what happens, we will figure it out, okay? Together. We’ll work it out.”

Lenny gurgles her agreement.

Sidney flashes them a brief, distracted smile. “Of course. Will be fine, I just—I worry.” 

“Sidka.” Evgeni reaches for Sidney’s hand and pulls him to sit next to him on the bed. “You need to relax; you’ll make yourself sick like this.”

“Bah!” Lenny adds seriously, her brows drawn together in an imitation of Sidney’s expression. It’s possibly the most adorable thing Evgeni has ever seen.

Lenny usually is.

Sidney laughs gently and reaches for Lenny, settling her comfortably against his chest. “Oh, you think so?” he asks her, leaning down to brush his nose against hers before smacking a loud kiss against her cheek; Lenny squeals happily, absolutely delighted.

Evgeni watches them and feels his chest hurt from how much he loves the two of them.

He struggles, sometimes, to think that only five months ago Lenny wasn’t even born yet, wasn’t this huge, integral part of their lives. The entirety of his existence has changed so much since he first picked up his phone and dialled a Canadian number; Evgeni is so very grateful Barry had even thought to tell him about a fourteen-year-old hockey phenom by the name of Sidney Crosby.

He wraps his arm around Sidney’s shoulder, making faces at Lenny and laughing when she grabs for his nose and grunts in frustration when it stubbornly remains attached to Evgeni’s face.

“Do you ever wonder,” he asks, “what our lives would be like if we hadn’t met when we did? If I had never called you?”

Sidney frowns thoughtfully for a moment. He switches to English and says, “Sometimes, I guess. When I’ve barely had any sleep and Lenny is screaming and I can’t make her stop no matter what I do, I think about how life could have been so much different. Especially when she had colic. God, that was awful.”

Evgeni lifts his brows at the admission. They’ve never talked about this before.

“I think it’d be easier, you know? And then she’ll stop crying, and I’ll sit with her, just holding her close to me, and I feel so guilty I can’t even breathe, because she’s my _daughter_ and she’s amazing. I wouldn’t trade her for anything, you know. It scares me, a little, how much I love her.”

“Know how you feel,” Evgeni says. He’s had those days, when Lenny is upset and nothing he does seems to help. He’s never regretted her, he never will, but he won’t pretend there aren’t days when it feels as if everything he does is wrong—he’ll feel so helpless, as if he’s just a dumb kid who has no business raising a child. “Think is normal for everyone.”

“Yeah.” Sidney sighs in agreement. “God, I hardly know what I’m doing most of the time. I just try to do my best and hope I’m not messing her up.” He turns his head to look at Evgeni, and when their gazes meet, his eyes are shining brightly.

“What?” Evgeni asks. He lets his eyes rove over the cut of Sidney’s cheekbones, the fullness of his lips.

He’s more sharp angles now, the planes of his face more defined than when they first met outside a hockey arena in Břeclav.

Sidney smiles, that soft little smile that used to make Evgeni’s heart skip a beat and then beat a little faster.

It still does.

“I didn’t know before I met you that someone could love so much. I’m just—” He breaks off, looking from Evgeni and down at where Lenny is now dozing against his chest. It’s past her naptime, and she hadn’t slept at all on the plane. “I’m really happy that we met, Geno.”

Evgeni presses his face to Sidney’s temple and breathes in the scent of him. He closes his eyes, savouring the familiar feeling of having him near, of Lenny, safe in their arms.

In a few hours, they’ll find out if Pittsburgh will draft Sidney first. It’s what they want, what they hope for, but if that doesn’t happen, that’s okay. Evgeni will make it okay for them, for Sidney, and for Lenny.

They’ll figure it out, because that’s what they always do. He thinks about his life before Lenny, before Sidney, and thinks ‘happy’ isn’t a good enough word to describe even half the joy of having them both in his life.

There is Evgeni and there is Sidney, and now there is Lenny too, and the life they’ve built together.

Evgeni doesn’t know how to put any of this into words though, but he doesn’t have to with Sidney; he already knows.

In the end, Evgeni says, “Me too,” and that is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I can be found on [tumblr!](http://hazel3017.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Facts & Inaccuracies:
> 
> * Sid and Geno both attended the u18 Junior World Cup in 2003 in the Czech Republic and Slovakia, but I'm pretty sure they never met. Ovi, as far as I know, was not there (he'd have been 18 and too old). The game results are accurate.
> 
> * Geno's agent did, in fact, tell him about Sid when they were fifteen and fourteen. Geno asked for his name and started following Sid's career.
> 
> * Norm Maracle is a real person and did actually play goaltender for Metallurg Magnitogorsk in the 2003-2004 season.
> 
> * Sergei Osipov and Konstantin Makarov were also part of the 03/04 roster (their ages are correct but personalities are completely fabricated by yours truly).
> 
> * Marek Sykora was Geno's coach in real life, and [Geno has said](http://www.russianprospects.com/public/article.php?article_id=414) that he's the one who called him up from the junior team, and that he gave him a lot of ice time that first season.
> 
> * There was no lockout in the QMJHL in '03, but Guy Boucher was an assistant coach with the Rimouski Oceanic from '03 - '06.
> 
> * Gennady Ushakov is Geno's Russian agent.
> 
> * Gennady Velichkin was Geno's GM in Metallurg. [He actually did do some pretty shady things to make Geno stay in Russia](http://penguins-primer.wikia.com/wiki/Evgeni_Malkin#Escape_from_Russia), which is largely how I've based my take on him and his storyline.
> 
> * According to Finnish law (1987), the Ministry of Justice can grant people under eighteen a dispensation to marry under special circumstances. They do need to hear from the person(s)'s guardian, but actual parental consent is not required. Also, Geno should have already turned eighteen, not just turning eighteen that same year, to be able to give consent. Neither should they have been able to marry so quickly (they'd need a copy of their birth certificates and a Certificate of the Examination of Impediments to Marriage, which takes about seven days to obtain once you apply for it. I'm also pretty sure being young and in love is not a special enough circumstance for a judge to grant them permission but that's how I roll ̄\\_(ツ)_/ ̄.
> 
> * Getting married does mean that minors automatically become emancipated (at least in the States, but I extrapolated). It gives you a lot of rights, especially concerning autonomy, finances, and the right to own property, but it doesn't make you legally eighteen and it probably wouldn't have increased Sid and Geno's salaries.
> 
> * And while we're on the subject of emancipation; Sid would not have been draft eligible if he wasn't playing for a year. The emancipation doesn't circumvent the age-requirement for the draft, and anyway, Sid would have to have been affiliated with a team to 'opt-in' as a draft choice. If a player is on a team's reserve list, which Sid would have been, he becomes ineligible for the draft.
> 
> * You need to have turned eighteen to drive in Russia, so Geno wouldn't have been able to obtain his driver's license when he did even if he was emancipated.
> 
> * Geno didn't get Jeffrey until a year later.
> 
> * John Tortorella and Dana Heinze both worked for the Lightning when they won the Cup (Tampa did actually win game 7 at home).
> 
> * Speaking of, the 2004 combine took place on June 11, so Geno would have been in Toronto for the weekend instead of watching the Lightning win game 7 in Tampa. I compounded the combine and the draft purely for convenience on my part (the draft took place June 26-27 in Raleigh, NC). The times of Sid's combine and draft are accurate.
> 
> * Rick Tocchet probably wasn't hanging around Wilkes-Barre in 2004.
> 
> * Hershey Bears did not become an affiliate of the Washington Capitals until 2005. Technically, Ovi should have been playing for the Portland Pirates if he'd played in the AHL during the lockout. I chose to use Hershey based on location.
> 
> * Brent Burns played as a forward in the 04 WJC. He made the switch to defence soon after. The result of the gold-medal game is accurate: Flower left the crease and caused an own goal by hitting his own d-man as he was playing the puck.
> 
> * Geno and Ovi did not play in the AHL during the lockout. Burnsie did play for Houston, and WBS and Houston did not match up for a game. Also, Burnsie was drafted by Minnesota. He wasn't traded to SJS until 2011. The Houston Aeros were an affiliate team of the Wild from '01-'13.
> 
> * Sid was at Ovi and Geno's draft. He was there doing media, and to my knowledge never met Ovi or Geno. There is however, [an amazing clip of Ovi being drafted and walking past Sid as he's making his way to the podium](https://youtu.be/g5wRd8dJeZk?t=1584).
> 
> * Sid did sign with Gatorade at age 16. The contract was worth twice what Pepsi was paying two NHLers. Combined.


End file.
